The Society for the Admiration of Harry Potter
by Padfoot Reincarnated
Summary: Draco is innocently wandering the corridors when he stumbles on a meeting of an underground Harry Potter fan club, and recruited into it against his will. However, he soon realizes he doesn't mind some aspects of the club...such as spying on Potter. HPDM
1. Chapter 1

**Multichaptered Harry Potter fic! Yay! I've never actually finished one before. But this one is already all written, so you don't have to worry about it being abandoned halfway through. I'll be posting one chapter a day until DH comes out--I won't post anything that day, because I'll be too busy reading--but after that posting will resume as normal. Has everyone seen the OotP movie? Was I the only one who thought it was very slashy (Especially Harry/Ron)? Anyway...this is eventual H/D, even if it doesn't look like it's going that way at first. Trust me. Hope you enjoy!**

**Chapter One: Draco and the Fangirls**

Really, Draco had just done what absolutely anyone in his situation would have been done. He was _not_ to blame for the awkward situations that arose when things spiraled out of his control. Those were the key words, mind: _out of his control_.

It wasn't that he was nosy. It's just that when he somehow got assigned to patrol the halls on a Hogsmeade weekend, courtesy of Umbridge's new Inquisitorial Squad, well, he wasn't exactly happy about it. And any opportunity to take it out on any_body_ else—preferably a Gryffindor—was going to be pounced upon.

There was giggling coming from behind that door—an empty classroom. Undoubtedly, some illegal tryst. Oh, this _would_ be fun. One—two—three, and Draco slammed his way in, shoulder against the door and wand drawn. "Hah! It's all over, I've found you." He was strongly tempted to add, "And come out with your hands up," but he was stopped short. There was no one in sight.

However, what he had _thought_ was an empty classroom was anything but. There was a fire roaring in a cozy brick fireplace down at the far end, and plushy red armchairs and couches in a semi-circle around it. Far more disturbing—large, grinning posters of Potter grinning down at him from every inch of wall, and even a few hanging on the ceiling.

Draco gulped, considerably subdued. "Hello?" he said softly. "Anybody here?"

There was a coughing noise, a rustling, and a pair of eyes popped up from behind the couch.

"Please don't bust us, Draco," said a tearful voice.

Draco reeled back in shock. "_Millicent_? Is that you? Millicent Bulstrode?"

Shyly, the pair of eyes rose higher, and revealed the face and body of no one other than Millicent Bulstrode.

"What are you _doing_?" Draco demanded. "I thought you were in Hogsmeade with Theodore."

Millicent's lower lip jutted out petulantly. "Well, I'm not," she said.

"Yes, I can see that," Draco said impatiently. "But what are you doing here, with all the—all the _Potter_?"

Millicent glared suspiciously. "Are you _sure_ you aren't going to turn us in?"

Draco was too curious to have any interest in getting people in trouble. "Who's 'us', anyway?"

Millicent sighed. "Come on out, guys," she said resignedly, before directing her attention back to Draco. "If you try to cause trouble for us, we know how to handle it," she menaced.

Draco blinked, somewhat disturbed. Millicent never stood up to him—she had no _right_ to—

But his musings were interrupted, as, one by one, heads arose from behind pieces of furniture—one enterprising soul had even attempted to hide behind one of the lower hanging Potter posters.

Ginny Weasley was the first to appear, ears glowing and absolutely furious. "Shit," she said. "Who was supposed to put up the wards today? Millie, I think that was _your_ job."

_Millie?_ No, really—but _Millie? _And the littlest Weasley evidently wasn't as ladylike as everyone seemed to think she was.

Millicent looked down and covered her face. "I'm _so_ sorry, you guys," she sniffed, wringing her hands desperately. "This is all my fault."

The person hiding behind the poster emerged, sneaking a glance at Draco over his shoulder, and went to comfort Millicent. What was the name of that ratty little Gryffindor? Corbin? Coulter? Ah—Colin Creevey, that was it.

"There, there," Creevey said, rubbing circles on Millicent's back. "It wasn't your fault. It happens to the best of us."

Millicent plunged her face into her hands. "I don't deserve you guys," she sobbed. "I'll never do it again."

Okay. Forget whatever he'd told Millicent about not turning them in. This was getting too weird for him to take.

"I'll just be going then!" Draco said brightly.

"_Expelliarmus_," said a voice, and his wand went flying and was caught by—

"Patil?" Draco asked incredulously. "Is that—Patil? Er, which one are you, by the way?"

The girl grinned wryly, pointing her own wand as well as Draco's directly at his chest. "I'm Padma," she said. "And you aren't going anywhere."

Draco's eyes darted around the room, trying to judge whether he would be able to make a quick escape, when he noticed for the first time that the Weaslette also had her wand out and was twirling it in his direction.

"Ah," said Draco. "Well, let's be reasonable."

Seeming to recognize the direction things were taking, Millicent wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and pointed her wand in his direction. Creevey, looking around, quickly followed suit.

A hush fell over the group, in which not one of them moved. Finally, Weasley rolled her eyes, looked over her shoulder. "Psst," she hissed. "Luna! Wands out."

There was a sigh, and what Draco had taken to be a bulky pile of robes sat up and revealed itself to be a rather mild looking Ravenclaw that he did not recall ever having seen before.

"Oh, hello, Draco," she said pleasantly. "I didn't know you were a member."

Ginny groaned. "He's _not_, Luna," she explained. "That's why we're pointing our wands at him.

"Oh," the girl—Luna?—said, smiling apologetically as she plucked her wand from behind his ear and waved it vaguely in his direction, sending a shower of purple sparks flying in _all_ directions. "This is exciting, isn't it?" she commented to the world in general.

By this time, a lot of the intimidation had gone.

Harry Potter blinked down at them imperiously. Draco leaned against the door, the only clear surface, and scowled.

"Well?" he said. "This is a lovely little party you have going here, but I really have to be going."

"Not so fast!" Weasley shrieked shrilly. "You can't tell on us."

Draco grabbed the knob and rolled his eyes. "Stop me."

Suddenly a jet of green light zoomed towards him. Oh god! They were trying to _kill_ him! This was insane.

He ducked down just in time to be caught by a bat bogey hex.

As he fell to the floor in silent pain, the group formed a circle around him.

"Now," Weasley said. "You have two basic options. We can Oblivate you, and you won't remember a thing. Or," she said, drawing a sheet of parchment out from her robes. "You can sign this."

Draco didn't answer.

"I think he's in pain," Luna commented, nudging him with her toe. "See how he's writhing around like that?"

"Oh, sorry," Weasley said, mumbling some kind of counter curse under her breath before glaring at him again. "So? Which will it be?"

Padma peered down at him curiously. "We're very experienced in Memory Charms," she told him, as if that was supposed to be comforting. "We practiced on your friends—Crabby and Guppy?"

"Vincent and Gregory," Millicent corrected, never once taking her eyes off of her target.

Oh, goody. They'd practiced memory spells on two people who had never actually shown any discernable signs of _having_ memories to begin with.

Draco pulled himself to his feet. "I just sign this paper?" he asked suspiciously. "I sign, and you let me go?"

Weasley handed it to him, grinning malevolently, and Luna plucked a quill from behind her other ear.

Draco held it up to his nose, looking for a trick of some sort. But there was no fine print, no contract with misleading articles. Just a list of names: Ginny Weasley, Colin Creevey, Millicent Bulstrode, Padma Patil, Luna Lovegood—and, as Draco signed, one more: Draco Malfoy.

He thrust the parchment back at Weasley, holding it with his fingertips to avoid touching her. "Here," he said. "I signed, now let me go."

Millicent caught his wrist as he turned to leave. "Why, Draco," she said, sounding puzzled. "Where do you think you're going?"

Draco tugged on his wrist. Millicent's fingers dug in more tightly. "Back to the Common Room?" Draco suggested, in his most appealing voice.

Padma grabbed his other hand. "I don't _think_ so," she said.

The Creevey kid patted his back as Padma and Millicent frog-marched him over to the couch and forced him to sit. Draco flinched.

They all looked at him expectantly. Draco wondered if anyone would hear him scream.

Was he supposed to say something?

"You just signed the membership list," Luna explained gently. "You're one of us now."

Draco growled irritably and tried once more to free himself. "And what exactly does that entail? What do you do, anyway? Swoop around with things behind your ears, doing things that adults should do?"

Creevey's eyes widened. "Oh, _no_," he said, and stared reverently at a photo of Potter that was currently scratching itself under the armpit.

Millicent took pity on him and explained. "Draco Malfoy," she said solemnly. "Welcome to the Society for the Admiration and Promotion of Harry, A Potter."

"Or SAPHAP, for short. We _were_ going to make it the Society for the Admiration and Promotion of Harry Potter, but SAPHP was really hard to say," Weasley added helpfully.

This time, Draco did scream.

He wrenched his arm free, and made a break for the door. He felt as everything was moving in slow motion, as one by one the others pulled out their wands, and he was hit with four _Impedimenta_s at once (Luna tried to levitate him).

Draco lay helpless on the floor. Ginny Weasley towered over him.

"Welcome the club, brother Saphaprodite," she said.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

To Draco, it felt like ages before they decided to release him. They left him lying on the ground while they huddled in a secret, hushed conference in the corner. Occasionally, one of them would glance over at him, but mostly Draco was left unguarded, with only terrifying Harry Potter faces gazing down at him.

It was more than a little ridiculous. Draco could think of several males in the school worthy of worship—himself not least among them. And they had to pick_ Potter_? It couldn't have been someone sensible, like Blaise, or even someone halfway attractive, like Dean Thomas. No. It was _Potter_.

Eventually, he regained enough use of his limbs to crawl towards the door.

Millicent heard him, and, smiling apologetically, performed a full-body bind.

Eventually, Weasley clapped her hands and turned to face him, smiling brightly. "Okay, Malfoy," she said cheerfully. "We're going to let you up, but you can't try to escape. Alright?"

Did it make a difference if he was 'alright'?

Once the spell was removed, Draco didn't even bother moving. He lay on the ground where he was, probably getting all sorts of nasty things in his hair and clothes, and glared at them furiously.

They all started moving back to the couches. Draco sat, lonely and forlorn, on the cold hard stone.

"Aren't you coming, Draco?" Millicent asked. When he shook his head, Ginny Weasley decided to take a more direct approach.

"You're coming, Malfoy," she said sharply. "Or I'll curse you again. Something embarrassing, and I won't take it off."

Well, that was good incentive. Draco rushed to the little circle of couches and was there before any of them.

"What makes you think I won't go running to a teacher the instant I get out of here?" Draco asked, one more futile effort to dissuade them.

Luna spoke up again. "I wouldn't do that," she said, as if it was something that just had occurred to her. "The list of names is cursed. You'll get horrible spots if you do, and your hair will fall out besides."

The Weaslette arched her eyebrows superiorly. "It's lovely, isn't it? I got the idea from Hermione."

Granger, presumably. "Why aren't she and the Weasel here? Surely they're Potter's biggest fans."

"You mean Hermione and my brother? Well, we offered Hermione a spot, and she thought it was unethical. And a waste of time. And I wasn't about to invite my _brother_," she added, wrinkling her nose distastefully.

How perfect. She had something in common with Draco: they could bond over their mutual hatred of Ron Weasley. Though Draco doubted she would be very eager to murder him.

"But we have lots of associate members," Creevey chimed in perkily. "Hagrid and Trelawney and a house elf named Dopey—"

"Dobby," Padma hissed.

Creevey prattled on obliviously. "And Dumbledore and—"

"Dumbledore, huh?" Draco speculated. "That explains a lot."

Draco always knew there was a reason he didn't like that old man.

The group seemed to heave a collective sigh, and gazed at the posters plastered tightly on the wall.

"He's so amazing," Weasley sighed. Creevey nodded in agreement, and silence fell.

Draco endured this in silence for a few minutes, fidgeting with his robes. He whistled softly under his breath, and Luna harmonized.

"So is that what you guys do down here?" he asked skeptically. "You browbeat people into joining up with you, and stare at pictures?"

Weasley frowned and tugged at a strand of her hair. "Of course not," she said, annoyed. "Right now we're planning a birthday party for Harry."

Draco raised his eyebrows skeptically. "Yeah," he said. "Right. It's January. School lets out in June, and Potter's birthday isn't till July."

Millicent squealed and hugged him impulsively. "You're off to such a good start, Draco," she purred. "Knowing his birthday and everything!"

He shoved her off him irritably. Padma, who had been watching the whole scene skeptically, snorted. "Yeah, we know," she said. "It wasn't actually our idea to have a party. It was Hermione Granger's. She reckons that since he never gets much of a party with his aunt and uncle, it'd be nice if we did something to celebrate it before the year's over. So the party's in May."

A few feet away, Luna furrowed her brow. "Wait," she said slowly. "I thought this club was about finding the Crumple-Horned Snorkack."

Everyone ignored her. Colin pulled out a clipboard.

"Okay, guys," he said perkily. "Let's plan that party!"

XXXxxxXXxxxXXX

Draco didn't get back to Slytherin House until far past curfew. Once the meeting was over, and "Millie" had finished saying her goodbyes to everyone—"Bye, Gin!" "See you in class tomorrow, Pads!"—Draco had grabbed her by the wrist and ran home as fast as he could. Once they were inside, she leaned against the door, panting.

"I don't see why you were so eager to get back," she said irritably. "I usually walk Ginny and Colin back to their dorms."

Draco shook himself and stared at her wordlessly.

"I'm going to go take a shower," he said in a deadpan voice. "You will not be here when I get back."

Millicent, who had shown some signs of independence at the…club…shivered under his icy glare. "Yes, Malfoy," she demurred.

As soon as her back was turned, Draco grinned. That was just what he liked…ah, obedience.

While he was showering, Draco began plotting. There _had_ to be some way to get out of this. Maybe he couldn't tell anyone directly, but surely he could leave little notes hanging around, or _something_. This was practically kidnapping! He didn't want to spend his Hogsmeade weekends planning a birthday party for the Boy Who Should Have Died. Tomorrow, he would…oh, he'd write his father, or tell Professor Snape, or something, but for now he was tired and exhausted and…

He barely made it to the dorms before he collapsed into a deep, dreamless sleep.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

He was afraid to go to the Great Hall the next morning.

"Oh, no, guys," he said. "Don't worry. I'll just stay down here and eat…owl treats."

Oh, _that_ sounded incredibly convincing. Well, it wasn't _his_ fault. He wasn't a morning person, after all.

Pansy looked on the verge of tears. "But Draco," she said. "You _never _go to class without your sausage and eggs. I'll even arrange them into a smiley face for you…remember Smiley Bob?"

Blaise yawned and glanced at his watch. "I thought you said he was too old for that," he commented mildly.

Draco grabbed onto one of his bedposts and clung on for dear life. There was no telling what would happen if he went upstairs for breakfast. That Creevey kid was armed and dangerous. At least in classes, he'd only have to deal with Millicent and Patil…

He was _doomed_.

"Come on, Pansy," Blaise urged. "If Draco wants to stay in the Dungeon, that's his choice. We should get going, or all the food will be cold."

Pansy stared at Draco, her lower lip wobbling, before she threw her arms around him. "I'll bring you something," she whispered tremulously.

Millicent appeared, looking…well, no different than she ever did, but _ominously_ so.

"Don't worry, Pansy," she said. "I'll stay up here and look after him."

Pansy glared, irked. "Shove off, Bulstrode," she said. "Draco doesn't need your help."

Ah, Pansy. Draco really loved her sometimes.

"I think I'd better stay," Millicent persisted, blinking owlishly at Draco. "What if he's suicidal? You can never be too careful, I always say. But if you want to come back from breakfast to find him hanging from the ceiling with a—"

Pansy screamed. Blaise chuckled. Millicent grinned. "Stop!" said Draco. "I'll go to the Great Hall, I'll do anything, I promise, just _stop_."

And so, he went to the Hall. Pansy arranged his food to look like a somewhat lopsided smiley face, Blaise laughed at him when he dropped a bit of sneezing powder in the syrup, and he stayed far, far away from Millicent. That wasn't difficult—Millicent was one of four half-bloods currently in Slytherin, and they tended to stick together. They usually ate down at the end of the table—accompanied, inexplicably, by Ted Nott, who said he was curious.

Curious. Uh-huh. Everyone knew he had a thing for that Seventh Year mudblood. In Draco's opinion, he didn't have a chance.

So—everything was fine. Draco had worried for nothing. He chomped heartily on the eyes of Smiley Bob, and listened to Daphne laughing, and some of the tension eased out of his back.

Then _she _came.

He wasn't worried, at first—all the Gryffindors had to pass the Slytherin table to leave the hall, and there was no conceivable reason why she should—oh god, don't stop, keep walking keep walking keepwalking—

"Hi, Malfoy," said Ginny Weasley, sticking her little red face in front of Pansy's and attempting to smile.

Blaise coughed incredulously. Across the hall, Draco heard a _thump_ as a body hit the ground and a "Ron, you can kill him later. In fact, I'll help."

Draco should have just stayed in bed that morning.

"Go away, Weasel," Draco said, trying to sound haughty and disdainful and also hide the fact that he was kind of thinking about crying. "I realize that your failure to date Potter might have addled your brain, but that does not mean I am going to help you in a quest for revenge, no matter how appealing that may sound, because the fact is I want nothing to do with you or your family or your friends or your…"

Draco trailed off. _Everyone_ was staring at him.

Draco snapped his fingers, nearly hysterical. "Vincent!" he screeched. "Gregory! Get over here!"

Gregory looked at Vincent uncertainly. "Whaddya reckon gonna happen?"

Vincent scratched his head. "Dunno," he mumbled. "Go, Draco!"

The girl Weasley grinned at him malevolently. Across the hall, her brother was being forcibly restrained, causing quite a commotion at the Gryffindor table.

Was he actually foaming at the mouth?

No matter. Weaslette was twirling her wand thoughtfully. "Hmm," she said. "There was something I came over here for. If only I could _remember_. Gee, it sure is a shame when you can't _remember_ things. Do you think you could help me _remember_?"

Draco shuddered, and glanced up at the High Table, his only remaining hope of salvation. Snape and McGonagall were having some kind of whispered debate—the Hufflepuffs were listening intently—but Dumbledore was watching the whole thing, eating his toast complacently and—did he just _wink_?

He would let her do it. He would actually let her do it.

Draco glowered furiously as he jumped up from the table, but he did it. A certain hush fell over the hall as he followed Ginny Weasley out of the hall. All was quiet, except for Ron Weasley throwing hardboiled eggs in their direction, and Granger nervously trying to hush him.

Did _no one_ notice that he was deliberately stepping on the back of her robes?

As soon as they were out, Weasley leaned back against the door with a sigh. "Great performance back there," she said heartily.

Draco blinked. "That was _not_ a performance," he said stoutly. "I meant every word I said. I don't like you."

She snorted. "Yeah, I don't like you either."

"Then _why_ are you making me do this?"

She looked confused—genuinely confused, to her credit. When Gryffindors were stupid, they were stupid all the way. "We aren't making you do anything. We gave you a choice."

"Yeah, between being permanently incapacitated and worshipping _Potter!_ Fucking _Potter_."

Weasley smiled. "Yes, and we're _so_ happy you made the decision you did. You know, we're always looking for new members, but it seems like hardly anyone wants to join…it's so _weird_ when you think about it."

Well, no. It wasn't.

"Get to the point, Weasel," Draco said. Oh, he was world-weary; he was an old soul; how tragic his life was!

"Are you alright? You look—I don't know, like you have indigestion or something."

Draco glared. "Yes, Weasley," he said through gritted teeth. "I am fine. But _you _won't be if I get back in there and find Potter's sycophant and Tweedledee and Tweedledum have murdered my housemates."

She looked blank. "Who?"

"Your brothers! Ron, Frank, and Joe!"

She smirked. "Anyway. Now that you're in the club, you have to start taking on official duties."

"I thought I already did! I agreed to make party favors to your little birthday thing, didn't I? And I even promised they won't be poisonous!"

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, that's not exactly what I mean. Every month we assign someone to monitor Harry—take notes, check up on him—"

"You mean you _spy_ on him? God, no _wonder _the boy's such a paranoid mess. I'd be paranoid too, if I had Millicent Bulstrode hanging over my shoulder."

"Yes, well, we've been giving Millie a break from it these past few months," Weasley said meekly. "Don't tell her, but I think Hermione especially was getting suspicious." Draco said nothing. "_Anyway_," Weasley continued. "Last month was my month, and Padma was supposed to do it this month, but she says she has to start studying for her OWLs."

Ravenclaws.

"So, Colin and I decided that since you're new, we'll let you do it!" she finished with a grin, as if she were giving him some kind of gift.

"Um, no," Draco said flatly. "Just, no. I won't do it. I'm writing to my father as soon as I get back to the dungeons, and this whole thing will be sorted out."

Weasley yawned placidly and twiddled her wand in his direction. "That's too bad," she said. "I was hoping you would _remember_ to take notes on him for us."

Draco gulped. He wasn't stupid, after all. He didn't need some fourteen-year-old blood traitor doing memory charms on him.

But before he could so much as open his mouth, the door banged open, and Potter and his Weasley burst through, wands drawn. The Weasel grabbed the Weaslette, and shook her roughly as she yelped. And Potter grabbed Draco.

"What do you think you're _doing _to her?" he roared ferociously.

Draco wrenched his wrist away. "If you'd have paid attention," he said delicately. "You'd have noticed that she's the one who dragged me out here. And I'll be going now, if you don't mind."

"Oh no, you won't!" yelled Weasley, and there was a fist slamming into the side of his face, and a girl screaming, and black hair and leather shoes and there were suddenly a _lot_ of hands pulling him to his feet.

"Are you all right, Malfoy?" asked Ginny Weasley, scrubbing invisible dust off of his robes. Pansy's arms were around his neck, and Granger was standing in front of him, hopping nervously from foot to foot.

Harry Potter was standing a few feet away, struggling with the other Weasley.

"Come on, Ginny," he said shortly. "Let's get out of here."

As she turned and left, she quirked her eyebrows mischievously and winked.

Honestly. If it turned out she'd been planning this all along, he would literally kill her.

"Draco?" Pansy asked. "What was that all about?"

Draco swayed. His lower lip trembled. "I think I need to go to the hospital wing," he said faintly.

And he threw up all over Pansy's shoes.

**Today's my birthday, and reviews are joy. Pretty please?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for all the lovely reviews, I really love hearing from you all. Sorry this chapter took so long to post--I was at an amusement park all day, and I've just sat down. Anyway, hope you emjoy.**

**Chapter Two: Draco and the Gryffindors**

The day only went downhill from there.

Madame Pomfrey was quick to turn him away from the hospital wing.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Mr. Malfoy, you've barely even got a bruise!"

"He hit me directly in the eye. I could be blinded. Do you want that on your conscience?"

"He threw up, too, Madame Pomfrey," Pansy chimed in helpfully, stroking the back of his head in time to her words.

"Must have got some bad syrup," she said shortly. "Someone—I believe someone from _your_ house—has been putting what appears to be sneezing powder, but what is in fact a mild poison, into the syrup these past few weeks."

"Oh, Pansy!" Draco cried tragically. "Thou hast betrayed me!"

"What?"

"Did you put syrup on my sausage?"

"Yes…what's that got to do with it? Someone from Slytherin wouldn't be stupid enough to poison our own syrup."

"Oh, my god," Draco moaned. "I am going to die."

"No, you aren't," Pomfrey said. Honestly, she was the _least_ comforting woman he'd ever had the misfortune to meet. "Here, take some chocolate. And stop coming down here so often. I must have seen you more times than any other student in this school—and never for anything more serious than a tiny bit of bobotuber pus."

Draco swallowed a mouthful of chocolate without even tasting it. "My father will hear about this," he said venomously.

Pomfrey patted his shoulder, and Draco shuddered. "I'm sure he will," she said patronizingly. "Now, run along. Classes start in five minutes."

They were fifteen minutes late—Draco found he needed to stop every few feet and swoon against the wall. He was so very _ill_, after all.

The first class that day was Potions—with Gryffindor. Draco sighed with relief when he realized he wouldn't have to deal with Padma, then immediately wanted to strangle himself for being relieved about anything Gryffindor.

But Snape didn't so much as blink when he marched in (suddenly feeling better), followed by Pansy, who was carrying both of their books and who had promised to take notes for him.

To Draco's great distress, Harry Potter had already taken the seat next to his. He looked absolutely miserable, and kept shooting glances across the aisle at Granger and Weasley. From the way Snape was smirking, Draco gathered that Potter was there mainly to be punished.

Really. Draco knew that Snape did this kind of thing to punish Potter, but it wasn't as if Draco appreciated it, either. He chomped viciously into his bar of chocolate.

Potter nudged him. "No eating in class," he hissed.

Draco blinked up at him and licked at the corners of his mouth. "No? And since when have you cared about rules?"

Potter was quiet for a moment, then tapped him again. "Guess Ron hurt you pretty bad," he said cheerfully.

"Potter!" Snape snapped. "See me after class."

Draco laughed softly. "Guess Snape's gonna hurt you pretty bad," he mused.

Potter kicked him under the table. How immature. Draco made sure Potter got a good, agonizing whiff of the chocolate bar before he took another bite. And then, he made sure Potter had a clear view as he decided to begin taking notes on a different subject:

_Day One: Potter being an absolute prick. _

No surprise there, but Potter managed to look outraged anyway.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

Throughout the day, odd things continued to happen to Draco.

Like Luna Lovegood slammed into him, knocking them both to the ground, and then stared directly into his eyes when she managed to get up before he did. "I believe in you, Draco Malfoy," she whispered intensely. "We all do."

Then she kissed his cheek before running away.

Thank god no one saw _that_ one.

But all of his friends were watching when Colin Creevey grabbed him at the top of the stairs and asked if he would be interested in doing a photo shoot "for a prestigious magazine—well, the Quibbler—but anyway they're interested in part-Veela and—"

"My blood is _pure!_" Draco bawled, on the verge of hysterics. "Pure, you hear me? All magic, and _definitely_ all _human_!"

Potter, who happened to be walking by (that boy had a magnet in him for witnessing Draco's Most Embarrassing Moments), patted Creevey's back kindly. "Don't worry, Colin," he said. "You don't want to bother with a wanker like him anyway."

Draco was bright red. He wished he _was _a Veela. They didn't blush, anyway.

Padma, when he saw her in Ancient Runes, was marginally normal. Unlike some _other_ people he could name, she didn't seem to think that being…a Saphaprodite, or whatever they were calling themselves—made Draco her chum all of a sudden.

But she was willing to help him with a difficult translation when he asked. Well, sort of. He shot furtive glances at her through the entire class as he struggled with some sort of difficult case problem, and finally excused herself from Hermione Granger.

"Yes?" she asked impatiently, tapping her fingers on his desk. "Quick, if you can—Hermione and I were just comparing the benefits of the Windshaw Method as opposed to the Parson process for the translation of Runes from—"

Draco shoved his messy, ink-ridden paper in her direction. He knew he was stupid for being the only stupid Slytherin to take this _stupid_ class.

"Fine," Padma snapped. "But I sure hope you have some good notes to show us."

And that was how Draco discovered that he could use his official club duties to wrangle favors out of his fellow members. For "Potter looking a bit stubbly; needs to shave" he got a few free packets of the Skiving Snackboxes that the Weasley twins refused to sell to Slytherins. Creevey gave him a weird old muggle camera that was actually pretty fun to play with when Draco told him "Potter wearing weird socks with snitches today; does a house-elf do his shopping?"

Luna got him a subscription to the Quibbler. That was for free.

"You know," Weasley told him at the next meeting. "This isn't how we usually run things."

Draco glowered and bit off the head of the chocolate frog he was munching on. "I'm not surprised," he muttered. "Gryffindors wouldn't know how to run a secret underground club if their lives depended on it."

Weasley coughed something that sounded a lot like "order."

Draco cocked an eyebrow at her. "Orgy?"

Padma gave an enormous, completely fake sneeze, which fortunately diffused the situation but also left Millicent somewhat damp.

"Right," Padma said. "What notes do we have this week?"

Luna blinked. "I have some lovely notes from Divination. I doodled a butterfly and Ron Weasley's head in the margin, but aside from that they're completely readable.

Ginny Weasley wrinkled her nose, but otherwise the group completely ignored the comment—over the three weeks he had spent as a member of the club, Draco had realized that a _lot_ of what Luna said was ignored.

Draco sucked on the leg of his frog. "I don't know," he said. "These notes cost me a lot to get. What'll you give me for them?"

Creevey stamped his foot. "That's not _fair_, Draco," he whined. And _when_ had he said they could call him Draco? "You take notes, but you won't even let us look at them."

Millicent crossed her arms. "Yeah, and they aren't even that _good_ of notes. Usually whoever we assign to track Harry gets to talk to him and record the conversations. It's much more fun than reading 'Potter was yelled at in Potions. Hah hah hah.'"

Padma nodded her agreement. "Yeah," she said. "That's why we usually have Luna and Ginny do it."

Well, duh. What was such a sensible girl doing in a club like this?

"I think Draco should make friends with him," Luna suggested. "He's so friendly, after all. Harry, I mean."

Draco tried not to throw up all over Creevey's carefully constructed Harry Potter memorial collage. "I like things just the way they are between me and Potter."

Weasley plucked a quill and a clipboard from the table. "Be that as it may," she said icily. "I think we should get someone else to do the spying. It's been nice having you as a member, Draco"—seriously, they had to stop it with the 'Draco'—"but maybe you'd be better suited to some other duty. You could be the public relations advisor or something."

It took a moment for the full repercussions of that statement to sink in. No more Skiving Snackboxes. No more Ancient Runes help. No more…well, actually, that was pretty much it. But still.

"This is my job!" he protested. "You said so! And I want to do it."

He was met with complete silence, and several stares.

He needed those Skiving Snackboxes, dammit!

"Listen," he said, in his most persuasive voice. "As Potter's rival, I can access more information about him than any of _you _could. Millicent, she's just another Slytherin. And Creevey's just a little fanboy. Weasley, what are you to him? Weasley's little sister?"

To Draco's chagrin, not one of them looked insulted. In fact, Weasley yawned. "You have_ got_ to stop calling me Weasley," she scolded. "You call all of my brothers that, too, and it makes for some very confusing sentences."

Draco stared at her blankly. He had no _need _to distinguish between the Weasleys; that was the point. They were all the same. Red. Muddy. Gryffindor. Poor. Loud. Harry Potter-y.

But he was willing to make a few concessions to get what he wanted. "Okay, Ginny," he said cheerfully. "Can I keep taking notes?"

Ginny was silent.

"Let's take a vote," Millicent suggested.

And so they did.

Two scraps of parchment read 'yes.' One read 'no'. One said 'hippogriff' (Draco could guess who that was.)

"And Draco will continue his note taking," Padma said dryly, making a note on her clipboard.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

He decided to take it up a notch the next day. He couldn't afford to lose his Skiving Snackboxes, after all (there was a huge black market for them. The Weasley twins had no idea).

So after classes were over, he went to wait in the library for Potter and his friends. He knew Granger had been dragging them down there almost every day to study for OWLs ("We can study just as well in the dorms, Hermione" "Oh no you don't, Ron Weasley").

Smart girl. Pity about the blood.

Draco arrived almost an entire hour before Potter and his groupies. He took 'their' table, and spread out notes from all his classes. He made sure to look very, very busy.

Potter stopped dead in his tracks as soon as he entered, a few steps ahead of Granger and Weasley. "What are you doing here, Malfoy?" he snarled.

Draco looked up innocently. "Studying, Potter," he explained. "That's what separates me from you."

"That's _our_ table," Potter complained.

Draco shrugged. "That's too bad," he said pleasantly. "Because I'm quite settled in, myself."

Potter was turning red. Very quickly. Maybe provoking him in his tender state was a bad idea.

Luckily, Potter's friends stepped in. Friends? Honestly, they were more like zookeepers.

"Come on, Harry," Weasley said, shooting a sidelong glance at Draco. "You don't need another detention over this bastard."

Granger rushed in a few steps behind. "Come on, boys," she said. "There's a table right next to our usual one. Let's just sit there. If he bothers us," she added loudly. "We can just tell Madame Pince."

Potter was still grumbling as they took the next table over, but he complied. Mission accomplished. Draco pulled out the notebook he'd been using for his Harry Potter notes, and started a new entry. This would get him at least three Fainting Fancies.

Unfortunately, Potter's conversation was almost unspeakably dull. It seemed to be revolving around something his pet dog had given him for Christmas, and a bit about an army. It seemed to Draco as if Potter had read one too many issues of the Quibbler.

"And someday," Granger intoned. "House elves will be free to run their own society."

She was even boring her own friends. Weasley was drooling all over his History of Magic book. That was when Draco snapped.

"Oh, come _on_ Granger! If we set the house-elves free they'd just roam around the streets cleaning things up, but with no food or places to stay. They'd _cry_ themselves to death. My father freed one of our elves once, and she _starved_ to death. Refused to eat."

Potter stepped in before Granger had a chance to respond. "Yes, and you and your father are such _kind,_ loving people!"

"Your father tried to kill my sister!"

"He treated Dobby abominably—"

"Hey!" Draco interjected. "Dobby? Dobby the House-elf Dobby? I knew Dobby! Dobby was so funny. He always played games with me, and when he lost I made him iron his ears…"

Granger looked as if she might be sick. "You're disgusting," she said quietly.

"I said that I _liked_ Dobby," Draco defended himself, suddenly feeling very outnumbered. Potter had drawn his wand. It looked very menacing. "Heh heh," Draco said. "I'll just get back to work now, shall I?"

"Get _lost_, Malfoy," Weasley said.

Draco did.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

He tracked Ginny down that night for a consultation. She was a Gryffindor, after all. She knew how their minds operated. And, to be honest, his attempt at conversation had not gone very well. He was willing—marginally willing—to admit that.

And so he put on his invisibility cloak, and hurried up to the Gryffindor Common Room. He didn't know the password—and really, it wasn't not as if he wanted to get any closer to their little den than he had to. So he hid behind a suit of armor, and watched an endless stream of loud, smelly Gryffindors go by before he finally spied the one he wanted, fortunately alone.

As soon as Ginny was in reach, Draco leapt out from behind the suit of armor, grabbed her wrist, tugged her wand away, and clapped a hand over her mouth.

"Don't talk," he said menacingly. "And I won't hurt you."

She bit his hand. He thought his ring finger might fall off.

"Yeeeeouch!" Draco screamed, hissing in pain. "Goddammit, woman! You can't just go biting people willy-nilly! Oh, I will tell my father—I'll be disowned—Weasley germs, I have Weasley germs—you're not a werewolf, are you?"

Ginny, who had been walking towards the Fat Lady, turned and faced him curiously? "Draco? Is that you?"

"Yes! Yes, it's me who did you think it was, you stupid, stupid Gryffindor?"

Ginny took a few steps towards him, reached out and tugged off his invisibility cloak. "You could have just said so," she scolded. "Instead of basically assaulting me."

Draco tried to smooth down his disheveled hair. "Yes," he said. "But that would be ignoring the basic fact that I do _not_ want to be seen with you."

Ginny rolled her eyes, and with a mischievous smile, threw an arm around his shoulder. "Alright, Draco, my love!" she said. "Tell me all the passion of your mind!"

Draco looked around and was fervently glad that the corridor was empty. All the same, it was all he could do to resist screaming.

"Come on," he said with gritted teeth, thrusting her arm as far away as he could. "There's an empty classroom around here. I want to talk to you."

Ginny shook her head. "No way," she said. "I have to meet Michael. You can walk me down. We can talk on the way."

"Give me my invisibility cloak, and I will."

Ginny held up the cloak curiously. "Huh," she said. "I didn't even realize I still had this. You can have it back when we get to Ravenclaw."

The girl, clearly, was insane. Probably her parents couldn't pay any attention to her as a child. Probably she felt neglected. It was only this that prevented Draco from smacking her across the face. Generally, he didn't hit girls. It was ungentlemanly, after all. But she didn't really count as a girl, did she?

"So?" Ginny prompted, twirling the cloak over her head. "Talk."

Now that Draco actually had an opportunity to get some actual advice on his…well, spying—he wasn't sure how to proceed. When had he sunken so low?

"Hermione told me you were bothering them in the library," she said nonchalantly.

Draco took a deep breath and began talking quickly, before he could back out of what he wanted to say. "Yes," he said. "They were just sitting there talking, and I said something to them, and all of a sudden it was a fight and I left before they could kill me…"

He trailed off. Ginny's eyes were sparkling, and it looked like she was doing everything in her power not to start cackling madly.

"Maybe," she said kindly. "You shouldn't just butt in the middle of their conversation. They hate you—"

"And I hate them."

"Right. So start up a conversation. Don't just stick yourself into one they're already having."

Draco crossed his arms and was quiet. "I don't want to talk to Potter," he said, very quietly.

Ginny shrugged. "Then don't. It's completely your choice. We'll get someone else to do it."

Draco thought of all the Skiving Snackboxes he would be missing out on and reconsidered. "No, no, I'll do it," he said hurriedly. "But I like the way it was going before. You know. Where I didn't actually _talk_ to Potter. It was very pleasant."

Ginny shook her head cheerfully. "I don't think so," she said. "It will be good for you. Diversify your circle a little."

Draco pouted. "Can I at least get some Snackboxes for my conversation today?"

"No," Ginny said. "I can't keep stealing from Fred and George; they're bound to notice sometime. Besides, Hermione already told me all about your 'conversation.' If you want to call it that."

Ginny stopped abruptly. Draco was confused. "We're at Ravenclaw, now," she reminded him. "…You can go. Now. Please." When Draco didn't move, she stuffed his cloak into his hands and gave him a shove, sending him stumbling a few steps away.

Draco was confused. If anything, he should be the one wanting to leave. Instead, Ginny Weasley was doing her utmost to get rid of him.

Suddenly, something clicked. "Ah! Little Weasley has a _date_!" Draco said triumphantly. "I knew there was something!"

Ginny blushed. "Yes, I'm seeing Michael Corner. And I _don't_ need him seeing me with you. He's…a bit _touchy_, you know."

The door to the Ravenclaw Common Room began opening. It only took a minute for Draco to decide what he was going to do. Without even thinking about it, he threw an arm around Ginny's shoulder and pulled her face close to his. Her hair was even redder up close, he noticed.

"Ginny? What are you _doing_?" asked an incredulous Michael Corner.

Draco looked up. "Oh, hello, Corner!" he said brightly. "Dear little Ginny here was just asking me to escort her up to you. Such a _tender_ girl, isn't she?"

Corner's face grew steadily purple. Draco looked over his shoulder and saw a curious bunch of Ravenclaws subtly eavesdropping on the scene. "Hello, Padma!" he said cheerfully. "Luna, good to see you."

Michael turned and faced his housemates incredulously. "You _knew_ about this?"

"All about it," Luna said solemnly. "We would have told you, but it was such a secret."

"Luna!" Ginny yelped. "You are _not_ helping!"

Draco laughed and slipped away unseen. They could handle it themselves from here.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

Ginny was wrong: he didn't have to start a conversation with Harry and Friends the next day. Ron Weasley did that for him.

"What the HELL did you do to my sister?" he roared over breakfast the next morning. Potter stood beside him with his arms crossed. Granger gnawed nervously on her lip.

Draco blinked and set down the bit of toast he had been buttering. "Excuse me," he said politely. "This isn't your table."

"I _know _that!" Weasley yelled. "I'm not stupid!"

"You certainly seem to be out to prove yourself wrong on that count," Draco said dryly, amused as he noted the confused look on Weasley's face. "You'll make yourself hoarse talking like that."

Weasley looked across the hall to where most of Gryffindor was cheering. "Go, Ron!" shouted Seamus.

Thank god the Weasley Twins were no where to be found. In that case, Draco would be truly doomed.

Weasley lowered his voice a little bit. "She came in crying at about midnight last night saying something about _you_—she called you _Draco!_" he added, sounding truly revolted.

"The point is, Malfoy," Potter said. "You stay away from us, and we'll stay away from you."

"But if we find out you've been messing with Ginny…well…"

Draco threw down his fork and stood up. "Really," he said. "I don't think it's any business of yours what I do. And I don't appreciate this. Not one bit."

Weasley's fists balled up at his side. Granger's hand reached out to still him. "Don't, Ron!" she warned.

"Yeah, that's right," Draco smirked. "Listen to your girlfriend. She's the only one you'll ever get."

Draco appreciated the fist in his nose even _less_ than he appreciated the whole Gryffindor accusation thing. And he was somewhat surprised when he saw the person at the end of the fist—Harry Potter, blinking owlishly behind his glasses and looking quite unsure where his fist had gone.

"My, god, you're a bastard, Potter," Draco said, and tackled him to the ground.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

For once, Draco had a legitimate reason to go to Madame Pomfrey's.

"I believe your nose is broken, Mr. Malfoy," she said critically, "We'll have to get that set right away."

Draco sneered across the room at Potter, who had been made to walk Draco up to the Hospital Wing. "No complaints, Mr. Potter, or it'll be detention for a month," Snape had said. Was that honestly the only thing the man could think up to punish Potter? Making him follow Draco?

Well, there was also the detention next Friday, which, knowing Snape, would probably be horrible.

But really. Draco wasn't _that_ unpleasant to be around.

"What _did_ you do to him, Mr. Potter?" Pomfrey asked absent mindedly, as she tapped Draco's nose with her wand. "Children these days…it's not good for you to be raised in this atmosphere of violence. Why, back in my day…" she trailed off. "Alright, Mr. Malfoy," she said grimly. "You're cured. Hopefully, we won't be seeing each other for a while."

Draco stared up at her, dumbfounded. "That's it? Just tap-tap and I can leave?"

Potter snorted. "You've lived in the Wizarding World your whole life and you've never needed a bone fixed or anything?"

Draco was very affronted. "I, unlike you, do not go looking for trouble. Therefore, I, unlike you, manage to remain fairly healthy."

Potter opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but closed it quickly. Draco pointed at him victoriously. "Hah! I have utterly crushed you with my cunning and wit!"

The blank look in Potter's eyes convinced Draco that it actually didn't take much to crush Potter's spirit. "We just wanted to know what you did to Ginny," he muttered. "Madame Pomfrey, can I go now?"

She nodded and busied herself with signing a sheet giving Draco permission to go back to class. Draco, however, was focused on Potter's sudden retreat.

"The next time you want to talk to me about anything," he shouted. "Try _talking_ to me! Words, not fists, Potter!"

Potter, typically, gave no indication that he had heard anything whatsoever.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

He resolved, the next morning, to use his Fainting Fancies to his advantage. It was _nice_ having time off. Pansy, after the sixth time he swooned just before a class, became absolutely convinced that he was dying. The result of this was that he did not see an entire Saphaprodite the entire day, unless you counted a glimpse of the back of Millicent's cloak as she left the dungeons.

After classes were over for the day, he decided he might want to take Ginny's advice on handling Potter. It wasn't com_pletely_ out of the question that they could have a normal, civil conversation, was it? They were in most of the same classes, after all. It would be just like talking to Terry Boot, or someone else he didn't know particularly well.

So he returned to the library, took the same table he had two days ago, hoped he didn't make an idiot out of himself again, and resolved that he would not, under any circumstances, be scared away by Ron Weasley.

He stood up as soon as Potter, Weasley, and Granger entered. "I hope you were just leaving," Weasley said loudly.

Draco shrugged. "Not exactly," he said. "I was actually hoping one of you might be willing to help me on my Defense Against the Dark Arts assignment."

Granger rolled her eyes. "You can't possibly need help on that miserable trash Umbridge has been handing out lately," she said scornfully.

"Hey, we aren't all as smart as you, Granger," Draco said lightly, wincing as he spoke.

"_We_ aren't helping _you_," Ron snarled. "What? Do you want to mess with me like you messed with my sister?"

Draco positively cackled with glee. "Was that a Freudian slip, Weasley?" He paused for his statement to take effect. Weasley rather resembled a fluffy tomato. "Besides," he added, more soberly, "I really didn't do anything to your sister. Just a little joke—your older brothers turned her into a _parrot_ at dinner last night, for goodness sake. Go yell at them."

Weasley turned even redder. "They only did that to cheer her up," he muttered.

Draco sighed. "Yes. I, for one, can never be happy unless I have wings and a beak."

Potter, who had remained quiet during the argument, grabbed each of his friends by the elbow and steered them towards a table a few feet away from Draco's. "Come on, guys," he said. "Let's just sit down and get to work."

Draco stared after them as they left. He hadn't expected this. He'd sort of thought, all these years, that the Gryffindors would be ready to be friends as soon as he was. They weren't exactly known for holding grudges, after all. Dumbledore, for one, was stupidly forgiving. And wasn't he supposed to be Potter's mentor? Weasley, or even Potter, he could understand having this attitude. But from Miss House Elf Rights Granger? He'd expected…not forgiveness, but something.

"Fine," Draco muttered in their general direction. "I thought you Gryffindors might be interested in building bridges. Forming alliances. That kind of thing." He was met with total silence, and six dullish looking eyes staring directly at him. "Am I the only one who listened to the Sorting Hat's song this year?" he asked meekly.

That got a reaction. Granger gasped and tugged Potter's ear down, so she could whisper something in his ear. Draco stared at the little trio hopefully, while Weasley crossed his arms and glowered.

"Fine," Potter snapped. "I'll help you with your stupid Defense assignment." But he didn't move.

"Well, are you coming?" Draco asked impatiently.

Potter sighed heavily and grabbed his bag. "Just a minute," he groused. "Don't be so impatient."

Weasley thumped his back heartily. "We'll be right here if you need us, mate," he said. "And you—Malfoy—don't you dare try anything, or we'll hex your head up your arse. Not that it isn't up there already."

Potter ignored his friend and thumped his books on the table, grunting in greeting. He stared at Draco expectantly. "So? Where's your assignment?"

"_Oh_," Draco said, as if such a thing were only now occurring to him. "I thought we might chat for a bit. I mean, that's what you do with Granger and Weasley, mostly. Talk."

"And you _listen_?" Potter demanded shrilly. "God, Malfoy—what do we even have to talk about?"

"The weather's been _balmy_ lately," Draco proceeded blithely.

"It snowed yesterday."

"Yes—but for February."

Potter looked over his shoulder to check that his friends weren't listening, then leaned forward. "What do you _really_ want, Malfoy?" he demanded. "I know for a fact that insufferable pricks like you don't just reform over night. Ron's brother Percy—"

He stopped short. Draco was disappointed. He wanted to hear more.

"What about the brother?"

"None of your business," Potter said coldly. "You should just know that Ron's family is a thousand times better than yours will ever be."

Draco had to bite his tongue at this insult to his father. That was one area where Potter spared no means of offending him. "Ah, let's not bring families into it, shall we, Potter?" he said. "I wouldn't want you to feel left out. Since—you know. You don't _have_ one."

Behind them, Granger had leapt to her feet, but Draco didn't notice. Potter had whipped out his wand—again. Was this the only way Gryffindors had of solving disagreements?

"Harry!" Granger darted around the table and grabbed Potter's wrist. "Harry, _please_ don't get us thrown out—I _need_ to be able to use the library." He looked at her curiously, almost as if he'd momentarily forgotten that he _had_ a friend named Hermione Granger. "Harry," she pleaded.

Potter lowered his wand. "I'm not going to curse you," he muttered. "Not in the library. But—Hermione, are you really going to make me help him?"

"If you want to look at my History of Magic notes," she said severely, and then, turning to Draco, "I want to make a few things clear. I still think you're the slimiest bastard I've ever met, Malfoy."

"Well, that's a nice start."

"But—you're right. It's stupid not to have any allies in Slytherin—"

"Allies? Are you starting something?"

"—And if you're willing to bridge the gap, well, then, we should be, too," she concluded, smiling in a way that Draco, for one, thought was a bit over-satisfied.

Potter looked as if he might vomit.

"D'you want me to stay?" Granger asked, looking concerned. Draco shook his head, and, with a concerned glance at Harry, she bounced back towards Weasley.

"Guh," said Potter. Maybe he was on drugs. In that case, maybe Draco could forgive him a little, and also ask where he was getting it. Otherwise, the whole 'allies' thing was pretty much a lost cause. Too bad for Granger.

"So," Draco said, in one last effort to strike up conversation. "I noticed the Gryffindor team hasn't been out practicing for Quidditch lately."

He seemed to have struck a chord. Potter's eyes lit up, at the first mention of Quidditch. "Well, it's _cold_ out," he said, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Yeah? Well, you'll need to practice a _lot_ harder if you want to have any chance of keeping up with us," Draco challenged.

"Oh, _please_, Malfoy—if it was down to the Seeker, we'd beat you every time."

"And what happened to that famous Potter modesty? I'm shocked, Potter, really."

"Well, really, though, Malfoy, be honest: in a _fair_ game, you wouldn't beat me. Actually, not even in an unfair game. Remember that time in second year when—"

"Yes, yes, I remember," Draco cut him off. "Have you _ever _considered that maybe you don't win because you're a better seeker? Maybe you win because you have better Chasers and Kee—well, you _used _to have a better Keeper."

Potter glanced over his shoulder to check that Weasley wasn't listening. "Maybe Ron's not spectacular," he hissed. "But I'd rather have him on my team than _you_."

Draco whistled through his teeth. "Do you really think I'd want to be on any team with you on it?"

Never mind that he was currently part of an underground society that basically worshipped Potter. That was irrelevant.

Potter looked up at him oddly, with a strange tint to his eyes that Draco could not interpret.

"Let's just do the assignment," he said wearily.

**I am a vampire that drinks reviews.**


	3. Chapter 3

**And here is chapter three! I hope you guys aren't getting annoyed by the quick updates; I'm sort of rushing to get this all out before DEATHLY HALLOWS if at all possible. I'm so excited! My friend and I made costumes, and we are lining up, all day, if necessary. I just KNOW I'm going to cry, before I even start reading it, I can't believe it's over. Anybody else have plans?**

**Chapter Three: Draco is a Human Being**

"Draco!" Colin called to him across the hall the next morning. "Meeting tonight!"

Draco pretended to ignore him. Colin was considered a dork even among his own housemates, and among Slytherins he was basically a running joke.

"What's Creevey doing talking to you?" Pansy asked. "What meeting is he talking about?"

Draco chewed his toast slowly. He had the full attention of the entire house by this point. Most weren't even pretending they weren't listening. Blaise had wedged himself between Vincent and Gregory in an attempt to hear.

"Erm…Gobstones Club?" Draco offered weakly. "Father wants me…involved in more extracurriculars. Looks good for the Ministry."

In truth, Draco was relieved to have some form of communication with any of the club members. He'd had the feeling they were ignoring him since the incident with Ginny and Corner.

Which, he found out that evening during the meeting, was completely true.

Ginny's eyes started watering the second he walked into the room. Millicent rubbed her back. "It's okay, Gin," she said. "It's okay."

"You," Colin said. "Are a bastard."

"I'm okay with that," said Draco.

"I'm never helping you with Ancient Runes again," said Padma.

"Not so much with that."

"What did he do, again?" asked Luna.

"He was _completely_ heartless," Colin said viciously. "Really. This organization was formed on the basis of love and respect for our fellow human beings. Mainly for Harry Potter, but still."

Ginny looked up from Millicent's shoulder and marched up to Draco. "I ought to slap you," she said.

"Please don't." Draco had a bad history with women slapping him He had never really gotten over being hit by Hermione Granger two years ago—he still had nightmares about women with bushy hair.

"I'm not going to," she said, and took a deep breath. "Michael broke up with me," she said, and buried her face in his shoulder.

The assembled group looked at Draco expectantly. Fortunately, he had lots of experience with these types of situations. Pansy got like this, sometimes, when she and…whoever she was dating…had an off moment.

"Don't worry," he said. "There are other fish in the sea. And you have your life ahead of you. And he wasn't good enough for you. And you should eat lots of ice cream and get fat. And stuff."

Well. It always made Pansy feel better.

She hadn't stopped crying. Draco patted her shoulder awkwardly. "There, there," he said. "Don't cry, little Weasel," he said.

"Very good, Draco," Padma said approvingly.

"Will you help me with Runes?"

"Probably not."

"Damn."

Ginny pulled her face up from his shoulder, and blinking, wiped the back of her hand across her nose. Draco resisted the urge to check his robes for drool.

"Actually," she said, her voice only a little shaky. "I've been thinking. And I want to talk to you."

"Okay," Draco said. He was beginning to get a bit nervous, now. "Start talking." Talking, he had discovered, was rarely a good thing with girls.

She smiled cautiously. "Um. In the hall, maybe?"

Oh god. This was _not_ going to be good.

The door shutting behind them had an oddly final sound. Draco wondered, suddenly, what it would be like being led off to his own execution. Which was ridiculous, but suddenly he noticed how very like her brothers Ginny looked—Ron's long nose, the twin's short frame, and those freckles that were _everywhere_.

"Listen," she said. "I guess you probably know what I'm thinking, right?"

Draco shook his head dumbly. Maybe if he ignored her she'd go away.

Of course, there was that stupid Gryffindor bravery to contend with. "Well," she said, after he said nothing. "I was actually wondering if you'd like to do something with me."

He kept his face perfectly blank.

"Like—a date?" she offered

Draco took a deep breath and shuffled his feet. Ginny smiled up at him expectantly.

"Well," Draco said. "Well, no."

Ginny's face instantly flared bright red. "Oh," she said. "Okay. I mean, it was just a thought."

"I'm a real bastard," Draco said comfortingly. "You know that."

"Well," Ginny said. "I mean, that makes sense. Okay."

"This is awkward," Draco said.

"Sorry I put you through this," Ginny said. "Let's go back inside."

And they did.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

In what was quickly becoming a bit of a routine, Draco went to the library the next afternoon to intercept Potter, Weasley, and Granger before they could take their favorite table. And, thinking ahead, he found an unfinished Transfiguration essay that he _obviously_ would need help on. In the interest of building bridges. Naturally.

"I've talked to Angelina," Potter said, as soon as he saw Draco sitting alone in the library. "And she's scheduled some practices and booked the pitch. You Slytherins won't have it to yourselves for long."

Draco shrugged. It didn't really matter to _him_ either way if the Gryffindors practiced in the snow—if anything, Draco thought playing in the snow was more of a hindrance than a help.

And there were some _very_ painful training exercises that Draco would be more than happy to recommend. Just to help.

"You know," Draco suggested casually. "When _we_ practice in the winter, we usually pack our broomtails with snow. We've found it helps with…balance. And you always seem to fly faster once it's gone, for some reason."

Actually, they'd ruined five school brooms trying to do that; and their beaters always flew slightly upward now. But that was beside the point.

Potter looked intrigued. He pursed his lips and ran a hand threw his hair. "I'll consider it," he said cautiously, and then, in a faux-casual voice: "So—what else do you do?"

"I read, I paint, and I sing. I'm a multitalented fellow."

Potter stared at him blankly for a moment; then chuckled reluctantly. Were all Gryffindors that slow to get a joke, or was it just Potter?

"No, really," Potter said. "We've never practiced in the snow before. Angelina was reluctant about the whole idea. So…if you have any advice?"

"Snowball fights are always good," Draco suggested. And they usually ended with at least one person plummeting twenty feet into the snow, but otherwise they were lovely.

Potter squinted at him cautiously, like he wasn't quite sure whether Draco was someone to be trusted. Draco smiled at him winningly.

"Thanks, Malfoy," Potter said grudgingly. "Here, let me see your essay. I probably won't be much help. You should have Hermione help you."

Draco resisted wrinkling his nose. A comment about Mudbloods probably wouldn't do much to get him in Potter's good graces.

The silence that fell was almost companionable. Potter's quill scratched away at Draco's essay; and Draco surveyed the scene, contented. He was getting his essay corrected, and he was being rewarded for it. Life was beautiful.

But he was; after all, being paid to get interesting tidbits on Potter's life.

"I heard you're going to Hogsmeade with Cho Chang tomorrow," Draco said.

Potter looked up with a genuine smile. "Yeah," he said. "I'm excited."

Draco could understand his excitement about Cho Chang; there really weren't very many negative things that could be said about her. She was pretty; older; smart—a Ravenclaw, which meant Draco would actually consider dating her. Though she _was_ dating Potter—the girl obviously didn't have much taste.

"What are you two going to do?" Draco asked, more out of curiosity than anything.

Potter's smile faded slightly. "Erm, I'm not quite sure," he admitted. "There'll be—something good." He glared at Draco suspiciously. "It's not like you have much more experience, Malfoy," he said accusingly. "Name _one_ girl who—"

"Ginny Weasley," Draco blurted.

Which of course was an entirely stupid thing to say.

He tried to cover it up. Draco liked to talk. "I mean, also my housemates!" he said. "Pansy and Blaise and Lisa and I know for a _fact _that Theo had a picture of me under hi pillow in third year and…and…" Draco took a deep breath.

Perhaps all was not lost. Potter looked utterly torn.

Draco was an utterly intriguing and enigmatic person! Not even the Gryffindor could deny it!

"Wait," Potter said slowly. "Are you—you know. With, um. Boys?"

His face was so dark it was almost puce by the time he managed to stutter that painful statement, and he sounded like a mouse when he squeaked out the last word. Draco almost pitied him.

"Well, duh," Draco said condescendingly. "Are you _thick_, Potter? Free love, and all that."

Potter looked around and took a deep breath. He looked to be on the urge of saying something incriminating, for all that his eyes were darting back and forth. Draco got ready to remember everything for the SAPHAP.

At the last second, Potter sighed heavily and leaned his head into his hands. "What was that about Ginny Weasley?" he asked.

Draco was disappointed. He'd hoped he'd put Potter off of that particular trail. "She asked me out yesterday," he said matter-of-factly, hoping he could act as if it wasn't a big deal.

"Oh." Potter looked confused. "And what did you say?"

"No," Draco said. "I wouldn't want to go out with a—well, I just said no."

Potter seemed satisfied enough with that answer. "Anyway," he said. "I have a date tomorrow, and you don't. So."

"So what?" Draco wanted to say, but instead he just smiled and thought of all the Fever Fudge this would earn him.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

There was another SAPHAP meeting almost immediately after that. Draco noticed that he was almost looking forward to it, and wanted to shake himself. It was ridiculous, really.

For once, they were going to conduct "serious business" rather than just sitting around staring at pictures of Potter. "Serious business" for them consisted of planning Potter's birthday party, an apparently life-altering task left to them by Hermione Granger.

Draco didn't see why she couldn't just plan the party herself. It would have saved Draco, for one, a lot of trouble.

"So," Ginny said. "We need a list of Harry's interests. Anybody?"

"I bet he likes Crumple-Horned Snorkacks," Luna suggested, more to herself than to anybody else.

"I know he likes Cho Chang," Draco volunteered, much to the dismay of—well, pretty much everyone. "I suggest we carve a giant stone statue of her and give it to him."

"No," Millicent said firmly. "Draco, please don't be silly. This is serious."

"I've taken a bunch of pictures of him and his friends," Colin said bravely. "I could make a collage of them together."

"Good!" Padma said approvingly. "I know I can't help as much, but I can have my sister tell all the Gryffindors about the party so that they all show up and Harry doesn't find out."

"Oh, please," Draco snorted. "No Gyffindor will be able to keep a secret. And Potter won't find out even if it's right under his nose."

Ginny glared at him. "It's not as if _you've_ made any real contributions, Malfoy."

So it was back to 'Malfoy' with her.

"Something with Quidditch, then," Draco suggested impatiently. "He's an obsessive freak about that, of course. And maybe—I don't know—he was raised as a Mudblood, right?" Colin Creevey winced. Draco didn't notice. "So we could play some real Wizarding party games."

"Like what?" asked Padma.

Luna smiled. "My father and I like to make different colors of fire."

Draco shuddered, and spoke before anyone else had the chance. "No, you know," he said. "I mean like Veritaserum or Water, Polyjuice Mixup—that kind of thing."

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "Those are illegal, Malfoy," she said tersely.

"Yes, well, that's what we played at my parties," Draco sulked.

"I think he has a real point," Padma interjected. "Harry never got to do that kind of thing—Ginny, everyone plays those games, even if they _are _illegal. I bet you did."

Ginny pinked, but didn't deny it.

"I agree," Colin spoke up. "Nice one, Draco!"

He didn't like these people. None of them. Not. At. All.

But that didn't mean it wasn't nice to hear a little praise, once in a while.

Later that evening, as everyone was preparing to leave in their little groups—Ginny, Colin, and Millicent; Padma and Luna—and Draco was preparing to slink off to Slytherin alone—Colin stopped him.

"Walk back up with us, Draco!" he chirped. Millicent smiled grudgingly—she was happy her friends were getting along so well.

"It'll be fun," she said.

"Actually," Ginny said, speaking very fast. "I was planning on inviting you in, Millie, to play Exploding Snap with me and Colin afterwards. Obviously, Malfoy—I mean, he can't come. My brothers will kill him. _Harry_ will kill him."

_Actually_, Draco was fairly chummy with Potter.

"So," she concluded. "Sorry, Malfoy, but tonight isn't going to work. Sorry."

Obviously, she didn't like him anymore. He couldn't blame her. If someone shot _him_ down (not that that was likely to happen), he would ignore them for All Eternity. But she _must_ have known what she was setting herself up for. It wasn't as if he'd had a complete character transplant.

He'd just developed a new liking for—well—a new liking for extra-curriculars.

And, maybe—Harry Potter.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

The next morning, as he was eating breakfast, Hermione Granger came up behind him and tapped his shoulder nervously. His housemates were remarkably unperturbed—they were getting _used_ to random Gryffindors assaulting him at breakfast, which said nothing good about Draco's social life. Pansy glowered at a boiled egg, and Blaise chortled into his pumpkin juice—nothing Draco couldn't handle.

"What do you want, Granger?" he asked. Weasley, standing beside her, clenched his fists.

Granger took a deep breath. "Well," she said. "This afternoon Harry and Ron and I are going to catch a drink in the Three Broomsticks once Harry's date is over. We were wondering if…if you'd like to join us?"

Weasley was so red he was almost radioactive.

"Not the whole time," Granger added hastily. "Just for a while. I mean…inter-house relationships?" For a Gryffindor, she looked awfully terrified of the way Pansy was glaring at her.

He wished she'd asked him any other time. He did _not_ need his housemates knowing he associated with Mudbloods and Weasleys. And yet—he found himself, against his will, almost _wanting _to go. Which was stupid and illogical, and he wanted to talk to Potter.

"Okay," he said, before he could get a hold of himself and say NO.

Blaise dropped a goblet.

Granger gave a sigh of relief. "We'll see you at four," she said, and hurried away before Draco could comment on how utterly pathetic Potter was to have a date with a scheduled end.

Now his housemates were glaring at _him_.

"I'll make them miserable," Draco said cheerfully.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

That didn't save him from being interrogated as he was trying to get his things together to leave.

"I'm worried about you, Draco," Pansy confided. "All these Gryffindors…and you're so _secretive_ lately, it seems. Is there something wrong?"

Draco gulped. "No, Pansy," he said, as he tried to find his scarf.

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Yeah," he said. "Whatever you say, Draco. I bet," he said confidentially. "He's got a boyfriend in Gryffindor."

"Or girlfriend," Pansy said defensively, before sticking out her tongue. "Ew, what am I saying? Draco, honey, there are _plenty_ of lovely Slytherins you can choose from. Don't desert us!"

Vincent stirred on his bed. "Draco wouldn't," he said.

"Course not," Gregory echoed.

Draco snapped his gloves on.

"Absolutely," he said. "I'm friends with _you_ all," he said.

Pansy looked uncertain. Draco grabbed her shoulder and locked eyes with her.

"Pansy. Don't worry."

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

Draco was the first one at the Three Broomsticks. He pulled out a book that he had in his bag, ordered a firewhiskey, grabbed a corner table, and tried not to look conspicuous.

Potter and his friends didn't arrive for about another twenty minutes. Granger and Weasley walked about ten paces ahead, walking very close together and arguing very loudly. Potter, behind them, looked dejected; he hung his head miserably, and kept tugging on a lock of hair just behind his own ear.

For all that Weasley and Granger had looked ready to strangle each other, Granger, at least, looked in a fairly good mood when they sat down. Her face was flushed and her eyes were bright. "Hello, Malfoy," she said cheerfully. "Good to see you."

Draco blinked. "Er. Is it, now?"

She shrugged. "Well, Harry's been telling us about you. He says you aren't so bad. And anyway, you made an effort to reach out, which is more than I can say of _some people_," she finished loudly, glaring at Weasley.

Weasley, for his part, had slunk into the chair beside Granger and not said a word. His arms were crossed, and his ears were as red as his hair.

Potter shrugged apologetically. _What can you do?_ he seemed to be saying.

Honestly. Draco wondered what Potter had been telling them about him. It wasn't as if they were suddenly great friends, or anything—they'd just had a few conversations about Quidditch. That was all.

And yet, Draco was the one who had agreed to come to this little get-together.

An awkward silence fell. Draco wasn't sure he felt quite comfortable talking around Weasley and Granger. But over the past few weeks, he'd spent so much time talking about or watching Potter that he felt he almost knew him. And from the harried way Potter's eyes kept darting about, it was clear he wasn't sure in the slightest how to bridge the gap between his friends and—well, his friends and Draco.

Weasley coughed into his sleeve.

"We'd like three firewhiskeys!" Granger called, waving her napkin in the air and sounding quite desperate. Rosmerta nodded—the pub was busy today; it would take her at least fifteen minutes to get to them.

Granger tapped her fingers on the edge of the table and looked longingly in the direction of the jukebox.

"I think I'll play a song," she said. "Would anyone like to dance?" Draco noticed her gaze lingering particularly on Weasley. "Please?" she asked, sounding horribly pitiful. Draco would have danced with her himself, maybe, if Weasley hadn't spoken up.

Weasley yawned. "I was just—er, I was going to stretch my legs."

Granger's face fell comically. "Oh," she said. "Well, that's okay. Harry?"

Weasley stood up before Harry had the chance to answer. "No!" he said. "I mean…I guess a dance would be just as good as stretching my legs. If you want to, I mean."

Granger turned a deep crimson and grinned happily. "Let's go, Ron," she said, and pulled him towards the jukebox.

Draco was left alone with Potter. He raised an eyebrow in Granger and Weasley's direction, and Potter sighed. "Yes, I know," Potter said irritably. "They've been like this for ages…can I have a sip of your firewhiskey?"

A month ago, Draco would have been afraid of getting Gryffindor cooties. But now, Potter looked so pitiful, so miserable, that all Draco could do was nod.

"How was your date?" he asked, once Potter swallowed.

Potter's face took on a pinched look. "Not good," he confessed glumly.

Well, Draco probably could have guessed that on his own—they'd scheduled a time for it to end, for god's sake—but he winced sympathetically and pushed his firewhiskey in Potter's direction. Potter gratefully took another large swig. He'd begun to look a little red and dazed, now—clearly couldn't hold his liquor; even the cheap, kiddy firewhiskey that Rosmerta served to underage students from Hogwarts.

"I'm wondering," Potter said philosophically. "If there isn't something that just makes Cho and I completely incompatible. As human beings. You know?"

Draco nodded sagely. Music began to play, and, across the room, Granger was leaning her head on Weasley's shoulder.

"I just," Potter said. "I just don't think that I'll ever like Cho. I mean I like. She's nice and pretty and funny. She's just too…um. You know. She's too…" Even on the brink of being inebriated, Potter was a bit of a prude. He leaned forward and whispered his next word. "_Female_."

Immediately afterwards, his face took on a horrified appearance. "Oh, _god_," he moaned. "Did I just say that? Really? To you?"

Draco nodded primly and took a sip of firewhiskey, trying to conceal his excitement. This would earn him a lifetime supply of Skiving Snackboxes!

"I didn't mean to say that," Potter said pitifully. "Please don't tell anybody."

That, of course, was what Draco had been planning on doing ever since Potter opened his mouth at the beginning of his rambling speech. The Saphaprodites would be heartbroken of course—except for Colin—but it was the kind of thing they wanted to know.

But now—scared and pleading as he was—Potter looked strangely endearing. His tousled black hair was falling over his ears, and even his glasses, which sat crookedly on his face. His eyes, Draco noticed for the first time, were green; and now they were cloudy and worried. He was disheveled and messy and horrid; and Draco felt a strange affection for him.

"Malfoy?" Potter asked, worried when Draco was silent.

"I won't tell," Draco said finally, and meant it.

Granger and Weasley sat down a few minutes later, hands linked together and both smiling shyly.

"Hello, Harry, Malfoy," Granger said brightly. "Did we miss anything?"

**I love reviews...your wonderful reviews for last chapter helped my sustain my pitiful, wraithlike existance as a vampire, but I have more bad news: I am _also _a werewolf. Reviews make the full moon less painful. So take pity on a poor vampire-werewolf: review!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey everybody! Here's a new update, I hope you all enjoy. Also, I realized I haven't done a disclaimer yet, and I'm not very witty about them, so I don't own it. Anyway. Enjoy, I hope.**

**Chapter Four: Draco Plays Nice**

Monday morning, their first lesson was Potions with the Gryffindors. As much as Draco loved and respected Snape, he was not exactly a teacher you wanted to have first thing in the morning—he hissed and snapped and growled and hurt Draco's ears when he would rather be sleeping.

And so Draco was in a state of confusion when they started to work on their potions. Obviously. Because otherwise he would have grabbed Pansy or Gregory or somebody and gotten the ingredients and make sure they didn't mess up the potion too much but otherwise relaxed for an hour.

Instead, there was this.

"Hey, Malfoy," Potter said. "Erm. Would you like to work together? On the potion?"

And Draco would have said no. Really, he would have. Except for he wondered, suddenly, if Potter was scared at all to walk across the classroom and ask him that; and if he actually wanted to be _friends_ of all things, and if it would really be that bad to work with Harry Potter.

"Okay," he said, to the scandalized looks of his friends and a smirk from Millicent.

After a few hasty promises to his friends—"Yes, Blaise, I swear I'll make him miserable. No, Pansy, I don't like him better than you. Yes, I mean it. Vince, please don't cry. No, really. I meant that too."—he found himself, suddenly, on the other side of the classroom, surrounded by glares and Gryffindors.

"Here," Potter said. "We can use my cauldron."

Well, that was good, because Draco wasn't about to lug his all the way across the room.

"What have you done to him?" the Gryffindor-Patil shrieked shrilly. Draco wondered if she knew what Padma did in her spare time.

Ron Weasley looked as if he agreed with Patil.

Draco was not off to a great start.

It didn't get much better from there. Snape, it turned out, liked to lurk on the Gryffindor side of the room and criticize people while they worked. It had seemed funny enough while Draco was on the Slytherin side of the room, but from over here it only drove him to distraction—he would have forgotten to grind the bat claws before putting them in, if Granger hadn't stopped him just in time.

"Not much fun over here, huh?" Potter laughed.

Snape was torn between his urge to criticize Potter—a right and valid urge, Draco reminded himself—and one to help Draco.

He settled for glaring at them both.

"No, it's not. Of course, you can't blame him—you _stupid_ Gryffindor, you—" Draco said, gritting his teeth. Potter either didn't hear him, or chose to ignore him; Draco, from the slight smile on his face, suspected the latter.

"I've never liked Potions," Potter said absently, stirring their bright pink mixture counter-clockwise.

"I did. I do," Draco said loyally. "It's fun. And so easy—you just chop up a bunch of stuff and stick it in a pot. What's not to like?"

Potter's eyes darted furtively up to the front of the classroom, where Snape was stalking towards the supply cabinet, and Draco wanted to laugh. Potter was genuinely afraid of the man. Draco had known Snape since before he could remember—Lucius Malfoy had needed a contact in Hogwarts, after all—and he'd never been afraid of him.

"It's not as bad as History of Magic," Potter grumbled.

Draco shuddered. "Oh, I _know_. But sometimes," he added. "Pansy and I like to throw things at Binns while he's talking. You get points depending on where you hit him, and if he notices you lose."

Potter stared at him incredulously for a moment, then burst into laughter; attracting stares from both sides of the room. Weasley looked ready to pounce.

"That's horrible," Potter said, once he'd recovered his breath. "I'll have to try that sometime."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "I can't believe you've never done that before. What do Gryffindors do for fun?"

"Lots of things!" Potter said defensively. "Like, er. We play chess. And I've joined—um, a club. Recently. And Exploding Snap. And the Weasley twins turn people into canaries, sometime." He must have noticed Draco's blank look, because he hurried to explain himself. "And, er—we go to Hogsmeade, sometimes."

Draco pretended to gasp. "What makes you think I won't tell Snape?"

Potter seemed to be realizing for the first time exactly what he'd said. "Don't you dare, Malfoy," he said, his face turning red. "If you don't, I'll—I'll—"

"You'll _what_, Potter? Say it."

Potter glowered. "Please, Malfoy," he said. "If you don't I'll—well, I could show you how to get into Hogsmeade. Through the secret passage," he explained in a low voice, checking to see that no one had heard him.

Ah. Now _that_ was something Draco could use.

"When?"

"I don't know," Potter said, looking over his shoulder at Snape, who was busily praising Pansy. "Like I said, I joined a club a few weeks ago, and it's keeping me busier than usual. Maybe this weekend or something. I'll tell you when."

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

They didn't go on the weekend, and Potter never _really_ got around to planning anything before they finally ended up going. In fact, they ran into each other the very next evening. Literally.

Draco had decided to forego the library. He was falling behind on his homework, between SAPHAP meetings and essentially stalking Potter. He planned to spread his books out in the common room and work until dinner, and after dinner until bed.

That, unfortunately, never happened.

As soon as he put his bag down, Pansy burst out of the girls' dorm and threw her arms around him.

"Draco!" she squealed. "You're _here_."

Draco patted her back awkwardly and attempted to extricate his arms. "Yes," he said. "Um. This_ is_ my common room, Pansy."

Blaise peered up at him from where he was lounging on a sofa. "Well, yes," he said. "But we haven't actually seen you in here for a few days."

"Stupid Gryffindors," Gregory chimed in.

Pansy smiled up at him, glowing, and finally released him (though she kept an arm tightly around his waist). "Come on, Draco," she said. "Play Gobstones with me."

Draco stared at her blankly. "When have we ever played Gobstones?"

Blaise frowned. "Aren't you in the Gobstones club? With that Gryffindor? Colin Creepy, or whatever his name is?"

Draco must have looked confused, before his lie of a few days earlier finally returned to him. "Ah. Yes. Gobstones. Mmm. My favorite."

Pansy had bought a thirty Galleon Gobstone set. Draco didn't have the heart to tell her the truth.

"Can we come?" Vincent asked awkwardly.

Blaise stood up and began prowling towards Draco and Pansy. "Yeah, Draco," he said. "Me, Pansy, Greg, and Vince thought we'd come with you tonight. We can't let you be the only Slytherin."

Draco stared at them in abject horror. "There's a meeting tonight?"

Pansy pulled a sheet of parchment out of her robes. "I got the schedule from Professor Flitwick," she said. "Aren't you proud of me, Draco?"

Draco felt nauseous. He sank to the couch with his head in his hands. "Yes, Pansy," he mumbled.

And that was how he found himself, just after dinner that evening, being frog-marched down to the Charms classroom for _Gobstones_. Obviously, he did not have any intention of going. That was the hard part.

"I think I forgot my wand back in the dorms," he told Blaise desperately. "Just let me slip off—"

Blaise grinned and pulled two wands out of his back pocket. "I _thought_ that might happen," he said.

"Pansy!" Draco appealed. "I think I forgot my medicine on the table. I'd better run—"

"You don't _take_ medicine," Pansy said severely. They were two doors away at this point. Draco stopped short, and Pansy, pushing him from behind, tripped over the back of his feet.

"Ooohhhh," Draco moaned, clutching his stomach. "Pansy…I think I'm going to be _sick_."

Pansy turned white and stepped away quickly. "Er—Blaise? A little help?"

Blaise laughed. "No way."

Draco fell to the ground. "Ooooh, it _hurts_ so _much_."

Pansy knelt beside him and touched his forehead gingerly. "Step back, Pansy," Draco warned. "I think something's going to come up…any second now…"

Pansy backed up hastily. "I'm going for Madame Pomfrey," she said shrilly, turning and sprinting away.

Blaise studied Draco hastily. Draco allowed a little bit of drool to dribble out the edges of his lips. "I think I'll go with Pansy," Blaise said, and hurried after her.

That left only Vince and Greg. And _they_ were no trouble. They would do anything he said. Draco jumped to his feet and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Don't you two say anything," he warned sternly. They both nodded.

"Yes, Draco."

"Course we won't, Draco."

He left without another word; only a backwards smile over his shoulder at Vince and Greg, still staring at the place where he had been only a few seconds before. Of course, _now_ he was left with the interesting problem of where to go. Pansy, especially, would raise hell when she couldn't find him. Blaise would laugh, but of course he would worry.

So Draco, as had been his habit lately, set off for the library. He just never really got there.

He ran headlong into Harry Potter on the third floor.

Potter was walking with his head bent, and his shoulders hunched, muttering angrily to himself. Draco was so distracted, staring at him and wondering, that he forgot to stop walking.

When they collided, Draco felt sure he was about to take a tumble. But to his surprise, not only did Potter manage to grab onto the wall to support himself, he also reached out to catch Draco's hand.

"Watch it, Malfoy," he snapped.

Draco looked up at him, startled. Potter's eyes seemed to soften marginally when he remembered the silent truce of the past few weeks. Simultaneously, he realized he was still holding Draco's hand, and dropped it as if it were on fire. Draco clutched it to himself possessively.

"What are you doing out, Potter?"

Potter looked up at him miserably. "Oh, I don't know," he said. "It's not as if anyone wants me in the dorms. Half of them still don't believe me about Voldemort—"

"The Dark Lord?" Draco looked up in surprise, as Potter frowned. "Your own housemates?" Draco knew that whatever he said, most of his housemates would stand beside him—not that most of them had any choice, but—weren't Gryffindors supposed to be brave and true and all those nice things.

Potter scowled deeply. "Do you believe me, Malfoy?"

Draco hesitated, as Potter examined him keenly. Of course, Draco knew it was true—the Dark Lord was back, and everything was going to change. But he didn't believe it on Potter's word.

He also couldn't imagine Potter lying. Ever.

"I believe you, Potter," Draco said, and Potter sighed deeply and smiled.

A silence fell. Draco scuffed his shoes at the wall.

"And Ron and Hermione," Potter blurted suddenly. "Well—they've suddenly decided to start _dating_ or whatever," he said, wrinkling his nose. "Not that I'm not happy for them," he added hastily. "It's just. Hey, you wouldn't happen to know where your friends Crabbe and Goyle are, would you? Because they were supposed to be at the—"

Draco stared. "Why do _you_ care about Vince and Greg?"

"I don't, it's just—" Potter sighed. "Anyway, Malfoy. What are _you_ doing here?"

Draco laughed awkwardly. "Oh. Nothing as interesting as you. Just avoiding my friends."

Potter heaved a sigh and slid down the wall, clutching his knees to his chest. He looked up at Draco expectantly, and Draco sat down beside him.

"You want to go to Hogsmeade?" Potter said suddenly.

Draco blinked at him. "I didn't think you were actually _serious_ about that. You honestly know the way in? I wouldn't have thought that a Gryffindor would be smart enough to—"

Potter laughed. "Oh, yes. How about it, Malfoy?"

Well, of course he did.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

For all that he was in Hogsmeade—with _Harry Potter_, who he generally would have rather cursed than spoken to—Draco surprised himself by having a good time. Hogsmeade was different on a weeknight than on a weekend in the middle of the afternoon. Witches and wizards pushed carts down the street—he and Potter bought popcorn balls and a soft, honey flavored drink.

It was Draco's idea to send anonymous owls to Dumbledore.

"What else," he said. "Is the post office _for_?"

"Not this," said a horrified Harry Potter, as Draco finished a sentence with a flourish. "What does that _say_? Let me read it!"

Draco held it out of his grasp. He was still, he was pleased to notice, a half-inch taller than Potter. "I just give him a few suggestions," Draco said placidly. "I've seen food in his _beard_, you know. That is not the sort of man we need running our school."

Potter stared at him, dumbstruck, then pulled a quill out of his own pocket. "If you're sending one, I am too," he said aggressively.

"To whom?" Draco asked, mildly curious.

"Snape," Potter said viciously. "I think he could use some shampoo."

Dervish and Banges was their next stop. Draco liked the dung bombs. "It's so fun to set these off around Gryffindors!" he cackled delightedly. "You all get so horribly red. I'm so glad I have a Slytherin complexion," he added, though privately he told himself that Potter's own complexion wasn't that bad.

Potter wasn't quite sure how to react to that. Instead, he started scooping dung bombs into his own robe. "Do unto others as you want them to do unto you," he said sanctimoniously.

"Never heard that one," Draco said. "Slytherin, remember?"

They bought the whole stock. The cashier was delighted, and gave them fifteen percent off.

"We've been trying to get rid of this lot for ages," she said. "Worthless rubbish. If you ask me," she added, scooping them into paper bags for them. "You blokes are wasting your money."

They set off all the dung bombs outside the store and sprinted away, laughing.

When they stopped, several streets away, they weren't laughing. Draco breathed heavily, and rested his forehead on a shop window. Beside him, Potter was in much the same condition, leaning on his knees.

"Let's go for a butterbeer, shall we?" Potter suggested bracingly.

And so, for the second time in one week, Draco found himself in the Three Broomsticks with Harry Potter.

"Is this the only place you know in here?" Draco asked doubtfully. "You know, there are plenty of other places to eat in Hogsmeade. Wizards have to eat somewhere, you know."

"I like it here," Potter said stoutly, signaling to Rosmerta that they needed butterbeers.

"Yes, I do too," Draco said. "But I also like other places. Next time we come here, I'm taking you somewhere else."

Potter raised his brow. "Next time?" he asked skeptically, so that Draco was almost embarrassed. But he was grinning, an appealing sight, and he didn't look upset at all. "Yeah, I'd like that," he said.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

Draco was relieved to have a few days off from SAPHAP. The meetings were very draining, recently. Ginny didn't seem to like him much, anymore, and Colin had followed suit. As for the rest of them—well, Millicent was ambivalent as ever, Luna didn't seem to have much of an idea of what was going on, and he suspected Padma had a crush on him.

Normally, he would have been happy about this. It was Potter's fan club, after all, and one by one they were all falling head-over-heels for Draco. Someone, he thought, should start a Draco Malfoy fan club. There would probably be _loads _of people wanting to join. And Padma was pretty and smart and Ravenclaw—normally someone Draco would have at least considered. But recently, Draco hadn't been able to force interest in much of anybody. And the reason for that, he admitted quietly to himself, was his recent absorption in Harry Potter.

It was just that, after four and a half years of loathing Potter on principle, he had somehow come to the conclusion that he was actually an okay person.

That didn't mean he was jumping on the fan club bandwagon. He was _allowed_ to have friends from other Houses. Even Gryffindor.

Draco found it ironic that, just as he was beginning to enjoy Potter's company, he was being edged out of the fan club. Which he had not wanted to join in the first place.

"What news do you have for us, Malfoy?" Ginny asked coldly at the next meeting, peering at her clipboard rather than his face.

Draco thought of what he'd learned of Potter over the last week—that Cho was _too female_ and that Potter felt isolated from his best friends and that he dropped dungbombs outside of stores.

"Oh, not much," Draco said lightly. "He likes butterbeer more than Firewhiskey."

Colin looked horrified. "Students aren't _supposed_ to have firewhiskey."

Everyone ignored him. Ginny nudged her fingers at the bridge of her nose as if she was pushing up a pair of glasses.

"That's not good enough, Malfoy," she said, and around her Padma and Millicent were nodding in agreement. "What else do you have?"

But Draco had _promised_, and he hardly ever made promises and he didn't want to break the few he _had_ made, and even to himself he sounded disturbingly like Harry Potter.

"Nothing," he said shortly. "I'm sorry to let you down."

Ginny sighed heavily and crossed her legs. "Okay. Here's the thing, Malfoy. I think we need to find someone else to keep tabs on Harry."

"But you _can't_," Draco blurted before he could stop himself. "I've got plans to see him tomorrow night."

Luna looked sympathetic. "You can talk to me, Draco," she offered generously.

Ginny was _not_ nearly as sympathetic. "No," she said sternly. "Your month is almost over anyway. You can be more useful elsewhere."

Or they could just let him out of the whole club business. That was a definite option. Right?

"Like you can file our pictures of him," Ginny plowed on obliviously. "Or help Luna compose a song about why we love him so much."

"I'd really rather just keep…watching Potter," Draco said, cringing as the words came out of his mouth. Ginny smiled, looking vindicated.

"Well, yes, that _is_ the best job, isn't it?" she said. "That's why we have to give someone else a turn."

"I'll do it!" Padma volunteered.

Ginny checked a chart she was holding in her lap.

"Yes, I think that that would work."

There was no vote this time. Draco didn't have a chance, though Luna and Millicent looked sorry for him. Just Ginny made him give Padma the notebook he'd used to take notes on Potter, and made a little mark on her clipboard, and it was done.

He ripped out all the notes before he gave the notebook to Padma. He had some interesting sketches in there. Potter being hit in the head by bludgers from early on and general doodles from later. He wanted to keep them.

"Right," Ginny said. "To business. I talked to Hermione. She wants us to move Harry's party back a little. She says June is too close to OWLs."

"It's also very close to Potter's birthday," Draco said, mostly just to be obstinate.

"We're doing what Hermione says," Ginny said firmly. "The party will be in March. Do you have anything to contribute?"

Draco glared at her. "Probably not," he said, and so they continued to plan and buzz and hum around him.

Padma, it was decided would bring decorations. Ginny would be in charge of food and snacks. Colin was bringing the collage he was making. Millicent was in charge of getting the word out to Potter's friend. Luna was in charge of keeping the staff from finding out.

"And, Malfoy," Ginny added, with a sideways glance at Luna. "It would be great if you could help with that too. Just because—well, _you_ know. Just in case. And then of course you'll be bringing the games—"

"Wait," Draco interrupted hastily. "What do you mean?"

Ginny quirked her eyebrow at him. "Well, it was _your_ idea to play wizarding games, after all," she pointed out matter-of-factly. "I thought of course you would bring them."

"I'm not _coming_ to the party," Draco pointed out. "I thought that was obvious. Potter won't want me there."

"Oh, don't be stupid…Draco," Ginny said, reddening as she reverted to his first name. "You're planning this. You'll be there. Just don't say anything obnoxious, and I don't see any reason why we shouldn't all get along."

"Your brother will kill me," Draco said faintly, realizing she was serious.

"I'll talk to him," she promised. "But you need to be there."

"Harry won't mind," Colin chirped up. "I've—um—overheard him—talking in the Common Room to his friends. About you. He doesn't hate you anymore."

Which, honestly, disturbed Draco more than anything.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

He didn't sleep well that night, and that was the reason he was not prepared for Harry Potter to say hello to him in the Great Hall at breakfast that morning.

"Hello, Malfoy," he chirped quite civilly as Draco attempted to swallow a boiled egg whole.

Draco gulped and glared at him.

"Are we still on for tonight?" Potter asked, seemingly innocent of the way fifty Slytherins and most of his Gryffindors were glaring daggers at him.

Draco took a swig of pumpkin juice to give himself time to consider. Now that he'd officially been relieved of his spying duties by the Saphaprodites, there was no real reason to do anything with Potter but fight and argue. And, he admitted, there was some appeal to that idea.

But then—there was Potter, with his wrinkled cloak and his hat lopsided over his ear and his hopeful smile and his tapping foot. And—

Draco didn't _want_ to fight him. He wanted to say yes.

So he did.

**Thank you for all of your reviews on the last chapter--they have, in the truest sense of the word, given me LIFE! However, I haven't not yet told you the TRUE extent of my deep, deep sorrow. I am also suffering from Government Created Killer Nano Robot Infection, Hotdog Fingers, Spontaneous Dental Hydroplosion, and Ebola. Ten points to anyone who knows where I got that list of diseases--and reviews are, after all, the best medicine. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Hope you guys like this chapter--I certainly enjoyed writing it, even if it does stretch out a bit longer than the others. Some of you had some very interesting things to say in the last chapter--I won't say who. And ten points to Psycho Hippy, for getting the question right and having a really cool penname.**

**Chapter Five: Draco is Shocked**

It took a lot, that night, to slip away from Pansy. She was concerned—rightly so, Draco reminded himself. Draco had refused to tell her where he was going. He intended, some time before the year was over, to take her and the rest of his friends into Hogsmeade some dull night, and it would be better if it were a surprise.

It didn't help Pansy's nerves much that he was going with Potter, of all people. Come to think of it, that didn't do much for _Draco_'s nerves. _She_ seemed to think they were going on a date of some sort--which they clearly were not, but all the same, Draco had to admit she was getting to him a little.

And so he was half-an-hour late for meeting Potter at the library, their designated meeting place. Thinking ahead, he brought a bag of sickles and galleons and his Invisibility Cloak—last time, they were nearly caught by more than one teacher.

"There you are," Potter said, sounding annoyed, when he arrived. "I wouldn't have skipped the—club—meeting if I'd had known you'd be so late. Guess you Slytherins never learned punctuality"

"Or we just choose to ignore it," Draco said lightly.

Potter frowned, before Draco's innocent look forced him into a smile. "Yeah, maybe that's it," he said. "Anyway. Let's go. I brought—" he paused and reached into his bag, before pulling out with a flourish—an Invisibility Cloak. Draco stared. "It's an Invisibility Cloak," Potter said, taking Draco's silence for ignorance. "It turns you—"

"Yes, I know," Draco said. "Prat." He pulled his own out of his bag, and Potter stared at it in stunned silence before laughing.

"I though these were supposed to be _rare_," he said.

"Not if you have money," Draco said grimly.

Potter frowned, and looked almost sad. Draco wanted to grab his shoulder or his hand or—. Instead, he said, "Well, let's put these on."

They did. They walked in silence until they reached a fork in the corridor, then Draco stopped suddenly. A gust of air beside him told him that Potter was still walking, but Draco had no idea which way he had gone.

"Potter?" he asked, trying to keep his voice down. "Potter, are you there?"

Halfway down the path to the left, Potter's head and torso appeared with a swoosh. "Look," he said. "This isn't going to work." Draco said nothing, but allowed the cloak to fall back from his head and shoulders. "When I go places with Ron and Hermione, we all three stand under the cloak," Potter said.

Draco was silent. Now would probably be the time to protest, before Potter suggested what Draco thought he was about to.

"You can come under my cloak," Potter said reluctantly, and if it were anyone else Draco would have laughed at the horrible innuendo that could be found in a sentence such as the one Potter had just made.

And really, he didn't want to come under Potter's cloak. No he did not. He did not want to _exist_ under Potter's cloak.

"Okay," he heard himself staying.

It was luckily he and Potter were both rather small and skinny. But all the same their wrists banged as they walked, and Potter was breathing on the back of his ear, and altogether Draco was relieved when they got through the one-eyed-witch and Potter said they could take the cloak off. Potter's face was flushed and sweaty when they emerged, and, from the feel of his own neck, Draco probably looked much the same.

They walked in silence for what felt like a long time. It had never seemed this far to Hogsmeade before, walking on a sunny afternoon with Pansy at his side and Greg and Vince behind him. He and Potter scrabbled through the dark together; both panting with exhaustion, neither willing to be the first to give in and rest.

They emerged in Honeydukes, both beneath their separate cloaks. Draco bought a pack of Droobles, which he had been running low on, and Potter bought a pack of chocolate covered roaches.

"For Ron," he said to Draco's incredulous stare. "I've always kind of wondered if he'd be able to tell the difference between these and chocolate covered peanuts.

Once they were outside of Honeydukes, though, Potter began to look apprehensive. Draco was confused as to why for a moment, before he remembered something Potter had said when they had come last time.

"Ah-ha!" he exclaimed. "That's right. No Three Broomsticks for _you_. _I'm_ picking where we eat. It will be somewhere new and exciting and you will love it."

Potter sighed and looked longingly in the direction of the small, cozy pub. Yellow light glowed through the front windows, and laughter flitted out the front doors as a man and a woman stumbled out, singing drunkenly.

"Fine," Potter said, sounding resigned. "I'll go wherever you want. But let's look around a bit, first."

So they did. Draco was amazed at how unimpressed most of the wizards and witches around them seemed at two fifteen-year-olds out of school in the middle of the week. Some of them even seemed to be on a familiar basis with Harry, nodding cordially as he passed. Draco blew thoughtfully on his Droobles, and wondered if—

Suddenly, somehow, without Draco noticing it, they were in front of the Shrieking Shack. Draco gulped and backed a few steps away.

"Ah, Potter," he said. "It's getting very cold. Very, _very_ cold. We do _not_ want to be out here."

Potter looked at him mildly. "What are you so afraid of, Malfoy?"

Draco was starting to remember exactly why he had hated—_did_ hate—Harry Potter. It had a lot to do with him being a totally oblivious git. "Ghosts," Draco said slowly, as if he were speaking to a child. "It's called the Shrieking Shack for a _reason_. This place is haunted."

Potter sniggered. "By Lupin, yeah," he said.

Draco stared at him for a moment. "Do you mean to tell me that—"

"Yeah. No ghosts. Just a werewolf." Potter grinned. "But if you're still scared, Malfoy, I completely understand. I—"

Draco sneered. "You're on, Potter."

He slipped beneath the small wire fence meant to keep people away from the Shack.

"What are you _doing_, Malfoy?"

"Scared?"

"Never," Potter said, and slipped beneath the fence. "You wish, right?" he added with a nostalgic smile.

But Draco had already taken off; sprinting for the Shack with all his legs could manage. His cloak blew out behind him, and he dropped his money bag as he ran, scattering gold coins in mud and grass.

He became aware, suddenly, of a presence just behind him—Potter, breathing heavily and running with his fists balled tightly at his side. And he was getting closer. Draco put on another burst of speed, all he could manage now, going all out, and closed his eyes and breathed through his mouth.

Potter, behind him (now more beside than behind) was laughing. "Nice try, Malfoy!" he yelled, his voice thick.

And Draco's eyes were still closed, but surely he was nearly there. The ground was hardening beneath his feet, more like concrete than mud, and that had to mean something—he felt the brush of Potter's cloak as he passed, and Draco opened his eyes, grabbed Potter's shoulder and pulled him back (did that count as cheating?) and crashed headlong into the door of the Shrieking Shack.

Unfortunately, the doors of hundred-year-old shacks were not designed to be crashed into by fifteen-year-old boys. Draco saw a rain of splinters and dry wood as the door fell away around him, and he was suddenly _inside the Shrieking Shack_.

And, with a loud, painful sounding grunt, Potter came toppling in after him.

Draco hissed with pain as Potter landed on his arm at a ridiculously awkward angle. Draco clutched his arm, and Potter sat up.

"Malfoy!" he said. "Are you okay?"

Draco glared at him. Potter didn't get the hint, and, rather than getting up, touched his shoulder.

"Malfoy?" he said, a little tremulously if you asked Draco.

"Get _off_, Potter, you bloody git." Draco glared, and Potter obeyed; jumping to his feet as if he had been stung. Blanching, Potter bent down and pulled Draco to his feet, brushing invisible dust away.

"I'm sorry, Malfoy," Potter said (why was he still touching Draco's shoulder?). "Did I hurt you?"

"No, you just slammed me through a wooden wall and _landed on me afterwards_. Don't worry. It's no big deal," Draco groused.

Potter's hand was still there.

"I really am sorry, Malfoy," he said earnestly. "And to be fair, I think that wood was rotten, anyway. It couldn't have hurt that much."

Draco glared, and pointedly pulled a chunk of wood out of his hair. "Thank you for that assessment, Potter," he said icily. But Potter seemed so genuinely upset, and, more than that, so crestfallen at Draco's reaction, that Draco almost felt bad. He wasn't going to give Potter the satisfaction of knowing he was right, but he shrugged to show that he wasn't really hurt.

The small, swift movement of his shoulders seemed to remind Potter that he was still touching Draco. He glanced across at his hand and then dropped it quickly, blushing and trying to make it look subtle by running it through his hair.

Draco just smirked. Potter blushed redder.

"Let's go somewhere and get a drink," Potter said, looking everywhere but Draco. "I'm thirsty, aren't you?"

Draco glanced at him—Potter was acting strangely, and for a boy who passed out and had visions in the middle of class, that was certainly saying something.

But anyway, he _was_ thirsty.

"Okay, Potter," Draco said, stepping easily through the ruined door to the un-haunted shack.

Potter surveyed the ruins grimly as he exited. "We should probably fix this," he said, rolling up his sleeves.

But Draco was faster. "Now, now," he chided. "We wouldn't want the little hero to over-exert himself." Potter looked furious, so Draco smiled to show he was joking. "You're not bad, Potter," he said casually, pulling out his wand. "_Reparo_."

Potter looked completely stunned. Speech was obviously beyond him.

"And by the way," Draco added. "I won the race."

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

They wandered the streets of Hogsmeade for about half an hour before they finally decided where to eat. Potter, especially, was attracting even more attention than he usually did—muddy and covered in wood-dust, with a huge tear along the back of his robes (he hadn't noticed it, and Draco didn't intend to point it out).

"Why is everybody staring at us?" Draco asked irritably, knowing perfectly well that if _he_ saw someone looking like they must have, he would point, stare, and laugh.

"Not much fun, is it?" said Potter. But he didn't sound upset. In fact, a curious, smug expression settled on his face as Draco shot death-glares at giggling passer-by.

Draco steadfastly ignored him, and instead paused outside a restaurant. There were several animal carcasses hanging in the window; one which looked suspiciously like a dog, and plates beneath them to catch the trickle of blood.

Potter turned green. He looked as if he would be sick. "I'm _not_ eating there, Malfoy," he said. "I'll go back to the castle without you before I'll go in there."

"Hmm," Draco said thoughtfully, studying the window. In truth, this wasn't anywhere he himself would willingly eat. But there was no reason for Potter to know that.

Actually, he was feeling a bit nauseous himself.

"Let's move on," he said. "I wouldn't want to offend Potter's sensibilities, after all."

Potter gladly led the way down the street, buzzing in front of several groups of people without so much as an apology. Draco followed him at a slower pace, shrugging at an indignant witch that Potter had knocked down in his hurry to escape.

The same thing happened three more times—outside Witches' Brew,which promised live and dancing entertainment; Crow's Nest, which _looked_ about as clean as a real bird nest and whose only patron was a shirtless man; and The Food of Life, which catered specifically to vampires and served only raw meat.

"Prude," Malfoy said sourly as they marched away from that one. "Vampires are quite interesting; I've always wanted to meet one."

"I don't care about your sick fantasies, Malfoy," Potter said firmly, grabbing Draco's wrist and tugging him decidedly in the opposite direction.

Draco pulled at his wrist, and Potter dropped it. "Actually," Draco said thoughtfully, blithely ignoring Potter's last statement. "I think I know _exactly _where we should go."

The perfect place, incidentally, was on the other side of town, further away from Hogwarts than Potter had even been (so he said). It didn't help that it was cold out, and that neither of them had thought to bring gloves. By the time they were nearly there, even Potter was complaining.

"Why in the world did I listen to _you_? I was _right_ all these years, what in the world was I thinking? Oh, _Hermione_! That's right, _she_ made me. I'm going to murder her."

"As long as you don't kill me," Draco said absently.

"You're next on my list," Potter informed him.

"Ah, look!" Draco said brightly. "We're here!"

"Thank _god_," Potter said fervently, and raced to the door without bothering to look in the windows first. Draco was grateful. _This_, certainly, wasn't the sort of place Potter would usually come.

Draco followed Potter inside, to find that he had stopped short with his back pressed against the door. A young-looking witch in deep purple robes glared at them, wrinkling her nose at the state of their clothes.

"We'll take a table for two, please," Draco said serenely, as Potter tried to make eye-contact with the floor.

"I'm sorry, sirs," she said, not sounding at all apologetic. "But we have a strict dress-robes only possibility. Our patrons deserve only the best, after all."

"Let's just go, Malfoy," Potter whispered. "She's right; we shouldn't be here."

Looking around, Draco could see why he might think that. This was, without a doubt, one of the most opulent restaurants in all of Britain; and certainly in Hogsmeade. The floors were pure white marble with gold inlaid around them. The ceiling, similar to that of the Great Hall, had been bewitched to look like the sky; but rather than reflecting the _real_ sky it continuously showed a velvety moonlit night. The handle on the glass door looked to Draco like dragon bone.

It was a bit gaudy for Draco's taste, actually.

But he knew better than Potter, after all. They belonged here as much as anyone, even if this witch didn't seem to think so.

"I'd like to speak to the manager," Draco said icily, glaring.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, sir," the witch replied with just as much venom. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"We aren't leaving until we speak to the manager!" Draco said loudly, grabbing Potter's hand to stop him from fleeing. "So you might as well get him now."

Red with fury, the witch turned and tottered away, unstable on her high heels. As soon as she was gone, Potter sighed with relief. "This is ridiculous, Malfoy," he hissed lowly. "We should leave now, before the manager gets in here."

"Shut up, you stupid prat," Draco said, annoyed. "I know what I'm doing."

Potter looked up for almost the first time since they'd entered to glare at Draco. "Just because your father—" he began hotly. But he stopped abruptly as the purple-robed witch returned whispered frantically at the elegant black witch who accompanied her.

"Hello, Mrs. Zabini," Draco said in his most charming voice. "How lovely to see you."

The frown that had been on the witch's face softened slightly. "Hello, Draco," she said. "It's been so long since we've seen you; Blaise _so_ wanted you to come home with him for Christmas."

Draco sighed. "I _wanted_ to, Mrs. Zabini, _believe_ me. But…family duties, you know…"

Potter watched them, aghast, his mouth hanging slightly open.

"And _who_ is this friend with you?" Mrs. Zabini, asked, her eyes traveling the length of Potter's body—clearly, she didn't recognize him with all the soot.

"Harry Potter," Draco said innocently. "And—there seems to have been a misunderstanding—we'd like a table."

Mrs. Zabini nodded slowly, sparing only a raised eyebrow for Potter. "Very well," she said, as the witch behind her opened her eyes wide with horror.

"A private room, please," Draco said firmly.

Mrs. Zabini looked taken aback, for a moment. "Very well, Draco," she said. "Goodness knows I wouldn't want to disappoint _you_."

Potter looked vaguely sick to his stomach.

Mrs. Zabini took his arm and began guiding him through the restaurant. There were never many people there; and since it was so late, it was almost deserted. She tapped her wand twice on the wall just below the ceiling, and a door materialized.

"Here you are, Draco…Mr. Potter," she said. Another flick of her wand, and menus materialized. "Just say my name when you're ready to order, and I'll be right in."

As soon as she was gone, Draco and Potter took their seats at the wide table in the middle of the room. The walls in here, unlike in the rest of the restaurant, were pure white, with only a few candles to illuminate them.

"Malfoy," Potter said, after a few moments of examining the menus in silence. "I can't afford this place. I didn't bring enough money."

"Don't worry, Potter," Malfoy said lazily. "I can handle it."

"I don't want you paying for my meal!"

"Oh, I'm not," Draco said mysteriously. "Order whatever you want, Potter. It'll be fine."

Looking unconvinced, Potter continued to examine the menu.

"I used to come here all the time with my parents when I was younger," Draco reminisced. "That's how I met Blaise."

"Zabini? Hey he's in the—I mean, I've met him before."

"Well, I should hope so," Draco said severely. "He's been in your classes for five years. Anyway. His mother and her fourth husband opened this place up together. Well, there wasn't much for a four-year-old to do at a restaurant like this, and she and my mother are good friends, so they brought me here to entertain him."

"And did you?"

"I poked him with my father's wand," Draco said. "He turned green and grew radishes out of his ears. Well," he said, in answer to Potter's scandalized look. "_I_ was certainly entertained."

Potter chuckled, and Draco grinned at him. "We always got this room, too," he said. "It's amazing. Try it. Say the name of a place. Any place."

Potter looked skeptical. "Er…Privet Drive," he said.

There was a flash of light, and suddenly Draco and Potter found themselves sitting in the middle of a ridiculously neat Muggle home, with strange, unmoving photographs and what looked to Draco like tiny people in odd metal cages.

"How'd we get here?" Potter asked, astonished.

"We didn't _go_ anywhere," Draco scoffed. "Just the walls and the floor and the ceiling changed. Here…look at this—_Stonehenge_!"

Instantly, the house around them vanished, and they were in the middle of a bright, grassy field, with millennia old stones stacked around them and sunlight warming their shoulders.

Potter's mouth gaped open. "This is…_amazing_," he croaked. "My god, Malfoy."

Draco smirked, pleased with himself. After this, Potter would never be satisfied with the dirty old Three Broomsticks ever again.

"Why don't you pick a place," Draco suggested. "Like I said, I've been here before; you haven't. It's your turn."

Potter looked quite overcome by the possibilities. He looked around him carefully, a star-struck look in his eyes. "How about—the moon?" he said, and, as easily as that, and they were there.

Draco whistled, impressed in spite of himself. The Earth was rising over the horizon, and the other half of the sky sparkled with stars. "Good choice, Potter," he breathed.

Potter smiled back at him across the table. Draco saw moon dust and starlight twinkling in his eyes.

"Here," he said. "Let's order."

When Mrs. Zabini came in, he didn't even give Potter a chance to speak. He ordered for both of them, instead. "We'll both have the salmon," he said. "And we'd like a bottle of elf-made wine, if it's all the same to you."

Mrs. Zabini's eyes glittered with the prospect of such expensive customers as she swept greedily out of the room.

Potter kicked him under the table as she left. "Malfoy!" he hissed. "We're underage!"

Draco laughed. "Since when are you one for following the rules, Potter?"

Potter blushed furiously. "I'm _not_, Malfoy," he seethed. "But—"

"I told you," Draco said firmly. "She's good friends with my mother. She won't turn us in. I think you'll like this wine, anyway."

And anyway, Draco would certainly enjoy watching Potter drink it. The effect that a few sips of mild firewhiskey had had on him was hard to forget—as was the information he had let slip under its effects.

"Unless you don't _want_ to," Draco said blandly.

Potter glared. "Of course I want to, Malfoy. You're on."

The wine, incidentally, was better than Draco remembered it being—he'd only had a few sips, several years ago, at a party of his mother's, but he remembered grimacing and spitting it out (to the great amusement of Mother's friends).

It was stronger than he remembered, too. That was the only explanation for the way Potter's eyes seemed to glitter, and that his hair looked _good_, even if it was falling all over the place, or that Draco wanted to make him smile just so he could see it, Merlin help him.

"This stuff is really doog. Good," Potter slurred happily a few minutes later. "I really—I _like_ this stuff, and Hermione was wrong."

"And was I right?"

"Course…course you were," Potter said, smiling happily.

No wonder underage drinking was prohibited. Potter smiling like that could get _anyone _into a lot of trouble.

Mrs. Zabini frowned at them as she escorted their salmon to the table. "Are you _sure_ you haven't had quite enough, Draco?"

Yes, he was sure.

They ate their salmon in relative silence. Well, Draco ate. Potter, at most, took two bites before dropping his fork and gazing around the room.

"Well, look at _this_ place," he marveled. "Will you look at this _place_!"

Draco looked, and stared, and after a while he found it quite hard to keep eating, too. And why would he want to—there was so much else to occupy his senses, after all.

Maybe the wine had been a bad idea.

Potter had a bit of wine staining his upper lip, and Draco stared at it intensely. It was bothering him. Someone should wipe it off. Potter should—his lips were wet, and he wasn't doing anything about it!

"What's wrong?" Potter sounded very worried in the way that only an underage and intoxicated wizard could manage. "Your eyes are twitching."

"Indeed they are," said Draco. "Funny thing, eyes."

Potter studied him carefully. "I like them," he said. "Your eyes, I mean."

He would have blushed if _anyone_ had said it. Yes. It wasn't just Potter.

Draco turned his attention back to his meal. It was much safer, after all.

The rest of the meal passed with out incident. Only after they had finished their food did Potter remember to be concerned about paying for it.

"I don't want to go to Azkaban," he whimpered pitifully, tears glistening in his eyes. "Iss—ist—it's really there bad."

Draco patted his hand sympathetically, and the world spun around him. "Don' worry, Potto. Potter. We—okay."

Hmm. Maybe the elf-wine _was_ a bad idea. Draco, for the first time, wished he had a conscience.

"Mrs. Bazini!" he yelled. "Mrs. Nabizi!"

She rushed in, and looked quite startled at the sight of them. "Would you like an escort back to the castle?" she asked.

Draco waved his hand wildly, and knocked Potter's empty wineglass to the floor, where it cracked. "No, ma'am," he said.

"Very well," she said. "Here is your bill."

Draco put it up to his nose and examined it with wide eyes. "Only the thing is, Mrs. Zabini," he said, in the most diplomatic voice he could manage. "The thing is, I don't have my bag money. My boney mag."

Her eyes narrowed in exasperation. "Well, how are you planning to pay, Mr. Malfoy?" she asked, her demeanor growing colder by the second.

"Well," Draco said. "I actually wasn't. Actually."

She stared at the pair of them, expressionless, and pulled the bill from his hands, tearing it down the center. "Very well," she said icily, grabbing the backs of both of their collars and escorting them through the restaurant. "Then I suppose it's time for you to leave."

Draco waved happily at the purple-robed witch. "G'bye!"

"Next time you come," Mrs. Zabini said, as she shut the door behind them. "_Please_ bring your parents."

It was colder outside than it had been when they'd come in. It was darker, too; Draco saw the moon over the horizon, and Hogwarts castle in the distance was only a distant, looming shape. Potter shivered beside him as they set off down the long path back to the school.

"Wish we could apparate," Draco grumbled.

"Can't," Potter insisted. "Her-hermown says. Not in the castle."

Draco shrugged. "Still."

Potter stopped stock-still. "Wanna thank you," he said clumsily. "Nice meal."

Draco shrugged. "Was nuthin', Potter." He turned and began walking even faster—it was cold just standing there in this weather.

Potter grabbed his shoulder to stop him from going. "No!" he said. "I mean I want to _thank_ you," he said insistently. He touched Draco's cheek a little, which certainly couldn't be right. But cold and confused as he was, Draco found he didn't mind so much. "I mean," Potter said, clearly grasping at straws, and then he stumbled forward and his lips landed on Draco's.

Which, normally, Draco would have hated. And he _did_ hate it; that was the thing. And still his eyes were closing and his hands were somehow on Potter's shoulders and—

Potter pulled away, a look of pure horror on his face (which seemed to have cleared up quite a bit). "Oh, my _god_," he whimpered, and staggered off into the night; leaving Draco quite cold and alone in the middle of the street.

**Thanks for all the reviews...the doctors say you've given me at least another month to live. And I took the advice and got a psychiatrist. He seems to think I have problems. Prove him wrong--review the story! Actually...that probably won't do too much. But Harry and Draco will both love you forever if you do (I'm holding them captive; they have no choice!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hi guys! Sorry it took so long to get you an update. No spoilers for DH here, though I did read it. I'd love to discuss it, too, if anyone's interested you can PM me. Anyway, I'm a bit nervous about this chapter, but it does serve a purpose in the overall story--trust me! Anyway, hope you enjoy!**

**Chapter Six: Draco in a Tizzy**

Draco was never quite sure how he got back to Hogwarts. He didn't think to move for a full five minutes after Potter did, and running was out of the question, of course. He stumbled back to Hogwarts, feeling sick to his stomach. He knew Potter wasn't very far ahead of him—he could hear his footsteps echoing in the long tunnel back, after all—but he never caught so much of a glimpse of him. When he got back to the dorms, far past midnight, he immediately collapsed into his bed; which somehow felt warmer and softer than it usually did.

There was a reason for that, as he discovered the next morning.

"Draco," said a voice, very very close to his ear. "I am, after all, very fond of you. You are one of my best friends. And, as I said, I am very fond of you. As a friend."

Draco sighed and rolled over. "Mmm…"

A finger poked him between the shoulder blades. "That's very nice, Draco," said Blaise. "So—why, exactly are you in my bed?"

Draco opened his eyes, and immediately wished he hadn't. The light was very bright that morning. He covered his eyes with his hands and rolled over one more time, right out of bed. He didn't move.

"Draco?" That would be Vince. "Are you still alive?"

"Shh!" Draco said desperately. "Don't talk so _loud_!"

"Oh," Greg said, in a hushed whisper. "Okay, Draco."

Someone pried his eyelid open. Blaise was bending over him, looking torn between amusement and concern. "Would you by any chance like to tell us where you were last night?"

"Out," Draco said stubbornly, swatting Blaise's hand away.

"Out _drinking_?"

There was a pause. "Maybe," Draco admitted guiltily.

With a sigh, Blaise pulled him to his feet. "Well, we have to let Pansy know you're alright, anyway," he said. "I doubt she slept at all last night."

Draco only managed to stumble down stairs with the support of his three friends—Blaise and Greg each taking one arm, and Vince behind him to pull him up when he started to slip forwards. When they finally stopped walking, he was able to stand on his own two feet, and took the opportunity to rub his bleary, red eyes.

Unfortunately, his friends' efforts in getting him down the stairs were soon put to waste. With a sound like a stampeding wildebeest, Pansy trampled towards him and threw her arms around him, sending him straight to the ground. "Oh, Draco!" she squealed as she kissed his cheeks. "I thought you were _dead!_"

His head was throbbing.

"This is all very undignified for a Malfoy," he mumbled feebly.

"You know what else is undignified?" Blaise said, a smirk in his voice. "Getting drunk."

Pansy pulled back from him with a gasp. "Oh, Draco, you _couldn't _have!"

Draco shrugged and struggled to get back to his feet. "I was thirsty."

Pansy snarled and grabbed his hand, yanking him to his feet. "Draco Malfoy! When I tell your father about this—"

Draco whimpered. She had quite a tight grip on his arm. "Please don't. Pansy," he pleaded. "He'll cut off—he'll cut off _my allowance_!"

Blaise looked thoughtful. "I've never really understood why you need two-hundred galleons a month, anyway," he mused.

"Oh, you know," Draco said. "The necessities in life. Dragon-hide jackets. Silk robes. Truffles." He cracked an eye. "And hangover Potion," he said. "Which I happen to have in my trunk, if you will, Greg."

Greg trotted off obediently. Draco sighed and leaned his head back. Pansy, he found, was slightly less intimidating when his eyes were closed, even if his head _did _feel like it was going to crack in half every time she talked.

"Draco," she said menacingly. "_Why_ do you have hangover potion in your trunk?"

"Um, I don't know," Draco said meekly. "I mean, it could have gotten there. Somehow. Without me putting it there."

"Were you _planning_ on getting_ drunk_?" she shrieked.

"Not so _loud_!" Draco begged. His stomach was feeling sick.

"Oh, leave him alone, Pansy," Blaise said, speaking up for the first time in his defense. "We're almost of age, after all."

"He's only fifteen!" Pansy said shrilly.

Draco sighed, and did his best to ignore Blaise and Pansy, arguing in increasingly loud voices, as Greg reemerged from the dorms holding a small, bright red bottle. "Here you are, Draco," he said dully.

Draco swallowed its contents in one gulp and immediately felt almost completely better. Then he wanted to throw up all over Pansy's shoes. "Oh my god," he said faintly. "I kissed Harry Potter."

That was a surefire way to bring any conversation to a halt. "You _what_?" Pansy asked, her voice serious.

"Oh, Pansy, it was _horrible_," Draco said, his eyes brimming. "It was like—oh, it was—" He puckered his lips in a crude imitation of Potter. "'Oh, Draco, love of my life!'" he said hysterically.

There was a pair of lips on his. Draco opened his eyes and saw Pansy less than six inches away, blinking nervously.

Draco howled in wordless agony. "Pansy, NO! I thought you were my FRIEND!"

Pansy backed up, right into Blaise. "Sorry, Draco, but I thought—"

"No, no, no!" Draco cried hysterically. "I have now been kissed against my will TWICE in ten hours. This is—disturbing, this is—this is—it's not right, and I won't have it!"

And, on that note, he strode across the room, gripped the front of Blaise's robes, and mashed their mouths together.

"Hah, there see?" he said triumphantly. "I can do it too, I can kiss people! Watch me—oi you!"

An innocent third year was coming down the stairs from the girls' dorms, possibly to see what all the commotion was about. When she turned to see why Draco was shouting, he picked her up and kissed her full on the lips before depositing her back on the staircase.

"Did you see that?" he asked his friends eagerly. "Did you see what I did?"

"Yes, Draco," said Blaise sourly, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. "And I can really see why, if you've got a problem being kissed, kissing a load of people will help."

Pansy was nearly in tears. "Draco, you were coming at me with your lips puckered, what was I _supposed_ to do?"

Draco stared at her reflectively. "Hmm, maybe you're right. I should kiss a few more people."

"That's not what I—"

But Draco wasn't listening. He spun around; eyes closed, and grabbed the shoulder of the first person his hand touched—a rather bulky one, and higher in the air than he was—before squashing their lips together. He opened his eyes and saw—

"Goyle. Oh, it's you." The world seemed to be spinning. "I think I need to sit down," Draco said, before collapsing on the couch.

"Draco?" Greg asked uncertainly. "Are you okay?"

Draco's voice was muffled by his knees. "No," he said pleasantly. "I am _not_ okay, thanks very much. I can't believe I just…oh, this is disgusting."

"Well, that's kind of what you deserved," Blaise told him diplomatically.

"No one deserves that," Pansy said with a shudder, and Draco wordlessly agreed.

After a few minutes of silence, in which Pansy rubbed his shoulder and Greg desperately wondered what he'd done wrong, Blaise spoke up. "So. You kissed Harry Potter."

Draco shook his head. "No, no, no! _He _kissed _me!_ And as I hope we've all learned in the past few minutes, they are entirely different things."

Pansy raised an eyebrow. "That's not what you said earlier," she said suspiciously. "I remember. 'I kissed Harry Potter,' you said."

"Well, that's not what I _meant_!" Draco practically shouted. Ted Nott, a few feet away, scurried off in fear.

Blaise seemed to be scrutinizing him. "Was he a good kisser, Draco?"

Draco turned bright red and looked away. Why was Blaise even _asking_ that—it was none of his business, it was private, it was—

Luckily, Pansy spoke up before he had a chance to.

"It's not as if he'd know! Assuming they were both drunk at the time—"

Draco nodded fervently. "We were, we were," he said. "And hopefully Potter's forgotten all about it."

Pansy looked at him as if he were crazy. "Why would you want that?" she asked, startled. "If it really _was_ him that kissed you, and not the other way around—"

"It was."

"Well then, this should be _happy_ news, Draco," she said pragmatically. "This is _definitely_ gossip worth spreading around the school."

Blaise sniggered. "Yeah, can you imagine the looks on everybody's faces when they find out that their precious Boy-Who-Lived fancies _another_ bloke?"

Draco's stomach squirmed uncomfortably. He felt no need to let slip that he'd actually _known _the bit about the fancying blokes for a while. Known—and said nothing. He actually felt _guilty _about it, now that he saw the horrible, accusing stares Pansy and Blaise were sending his way.

"Draco?" Pansy said, very quietly. "You _do_ think it's a good idea, don't you?"

Draco had always been able to control himself. It was something he took pride in. Now, however, his tongue failed him in a very big way.

"Actually, Pansy," he said. "I'd prefer that you not."

They were clearly stymied. Even Vince scratched his head thoughtfully. "Why not, Draco?" asked Blaise.

Draco felt his face growing hot. First his tongue betrayed him, now his skin. But honestly—it _wasn't_ his fault. It was just that he hadn't realized, until this moment, that if Potter didn't realize what had happened—they could go on being _friends_—that's what they were, wasn't it? And no one would ever need know. The kiss hadn't been Draco's idea, that was for sure—and, judging by his drunken state, it hadn't exactly been Potter's either. If Potter was content to ignore it, so was Draco.

It was starting to feel like a bit of a mistake to tell Pansy and Blaise.

"Nothing," he mumbled. "Just—just don't," he said feebly.

And now he had to count on a pair of Slytherins to keep his secret. Being a Slytherin himself, he knew that was generally not a good idea.

"Breakfast," he said determinedly. At least this way, he could keep an eye on them.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

Draco wasn't sure whether he was pleased that he and his four friends arrived at the Great Hall at exactly the same time that Potter did. Potter, flanked by his two friends, looked horrible—he was a pale shade of green, wearing rumpled robes that looked exactly like the ones he had worn yesterday; with shaky, trembling hands.

Apparently, Gryffindors did not set much store with Hangover Potion.

Potter was hardly _standing_. Granger, a few feet ahead of him, appeared furious, and was only pausing to direct a death-glare at the two boys behind her. Weasley, however, was much more sympathetic; supporting Potter with two hands. Draco felt an inexplicable surge of—something. Weasley didn't need to be so grabby.

"Malfoy," Granger said coldly as she approached. "I need to talk to you."

Draco blanched and turned to Pansy for support. She squeezed his hand, and he opened his mouth, ready to make a brilliantly witty retort that would shut her up entirely.

There was no need. "_Don't_, Hermione," Potter said urgently, attempting to stagger forward and stop her—and, in a way that Draco, for one, could have predicted—he stumbled and landed right at the feet of the three Slytherins.

Draco, automatically, reached out and pulled him to his feet.

"Hands off," Weasley snarled, and Draco complied. But, after all, it was only good manners to see Potter safely to Weasley. And that, in Potter's state, required an arm around the shoulder, and one around the waist to prevent him from toppling over.

"Here's your Potter, good as new," Draco said, a sneer on his face.

Potter, safely back with his Weasel, looked even more nauseous before. Perhaps he realized that movement in general was a bad idea in his current state. His face was glowing a brilliant shade of scarlet, and his mouth was gaping. Draco was as surprised as anyone when he shoved Weasley off and, in a surprising display of strength, managed to push open the heavy wooden doors to the Great Hall and stagger in.

Weasley looked triumphant. "I knew he'd come to his senses eventually," he remarked to Draco. "He clearly can't stand to be around you," he called over his shoulder as he followed Potter into the hall.

Which Draco, quite frankly, thought was saying a bit much considering that _Potter had been kissing him_ just last night, but still.

He got ready to turn tail and run headlong into the Hall when Hermione Granger stopped him with a claw-like hand on his elbow.

"Malfoy," she repeated. "I need to talk to you."

Pansy narrowed her eyes. "Anything you need to Draco you can say to us, Mudblood," she said viciously, automatically stepping in front of Draco.

"Well, no, I can't," Granger said mildly. "And I am quite sorry it had to come to this," she added as an afterthought. "_Petrificus Totalus!_" she shrieked, and, quite suddenly, Pansy and Blaise were lying rigidly on the floor, with Blaise at a rather awkward angle across Pansy's stomach.

"Do I need to do you, too?" she asked Greg and Vince pleasantly, as if she had not just been casting curses on (fairly) innocent bystanders. "Good. Get in the hall."

As they obediently retreated, Draco felt his heart sinking. Greg and Vince had been his last hope. Neither really had the cunning or ambition to be Slytherin—or really, the anything to be anything—but they were good enough with the sheer muscle, and it would have done Draco some good to see Hermione Granger flattened.

"Walk with me," she said, and curled her hand even more tightly on his elbow.

"Listen," Draco said hurriedly as soon as they were out of earshot from the Great Hall. "You don't plan on kissing me or anything, do you?"

She looked genuinely surprised. "Why in god's name would I want to kiss _you_?"

Draco, not for the first time that day, reddened. "Er, nothing," he rushed. "It's only that…Well, a lot of people seem to want to. Recently."

She looked amused. "What, am I supposed to be overcome by your beauty? I have a boyfriend. Besides, Malfoy, the pale, pointy look is not doing it for me."

Draco stopped short, his jaw dropping.

"Oh, close your mouth, you'll swallow a fly," Granger said irritably.

Draco shook himself and hurried to catch up with her. Clearly, she had not meant it. No one could really think that. It was impossible.

He gulped. She certainly _seemed_ serious. "Anyway," he said abruptly, changing the subject. "If this has anything to do with the wine—"

"Of course it doesn't, Malfoy," she said condescendingly. "I can tell well enough that Harry's been drinking. I don't need you for that."

Draco felt the beginning of dread in the pit of his stomach, and looked longingly in the direction of the Great Hall. "Then what _do_ you need me for, Granger?"

This time, _she_ was the one to stop abruptly. Draco turned around to see her leaning against a wall, fidgeting nervously with the hem of her sleeve. "Well," she said hesitantly. "Well, you're right that it is about Harry. I mean," she continued in a rush. "He stumbled into the Common Room at about two last night, and he could barely _walk_, let alone talk, but he was mumbling something about you. I mean," she ran a hand through her already frizzy hair. "I already know you were with him last night, he told us that. But he wouldn't say anything more. And I _know_ that more happened. I need to know what, so I'm—"

"Going behind his back to find out what he's been up to?" Draco interrupted her. "How very Slytherin of you, Granger. I'm sure Potter would be glad to know how very much you trust him."

She looked distraught, and bit her lip. "I _know_, Malfoy," she said miserably. "And I don't want to, really, but—he's been through so much already, and we're his best friends, and I need to know how to act around him to make him feel better."

Draco felt himself becoming unaccountably angry at her. "If you're really his friend," he said shortly. "You shouldn't need me to teach you how to talk to him. Now if you'll excuse me, Granger," he sneered, turning back towards the hall. "I think you've wasted enough of my time already, thanks very much."

He was almost to the corner when Granger stopped him.

"Malfoy!" she called. Draco slowed and halted, but didn't say a word. "Is Harry—do you know, is Harry gay?"

Now Draco turned to look at her, glaring. "Why would you think that?" Pansy and Blaise knowing about it was one thing, but Granger and Weasley was another thing entirely.

Granger looked terrified at what she'd said. She hopped nervously from foot to foot. "Oh, why did I _say_ that?" she wailed. "Oh, Harry's going to _murder_ me!"

"If he's managed not to kill you for the past five years, I don't think you have much to worry about from him. But as for me…"

She suddenly turned vicious, pulling out her wand and pointing it at his nose. "You have to swear not to tell, Malfoy," she said hysterically. "You have to swear, you really do, or I'll…I'll Obliviate you!"

Draco stared at her incredulously.

"What is it about me that makes people want to wipe my mind?" he asked.

She lowered her wand slightly. Where were the teachers during all of this? Oh yeah. Breakfast. Which Draco DESPERATELY needed.

Granger's lip was trembling. Girls crying, in Draco's book, was down there with Hagrid the Horrible and bad hair days as Not Good.

"You're kind of his friend, aren't you?" she said. "I mean, you've been spending a lot of time with him the past few days, anyway. So you wouldn't want to spread nasty rumors about him—would you?"

Well, no, he didn't. Not really, not anymore. But there was no earthly reason why _Granger_ should know that. "I don't know," he said thoughtfully, pretending to consider. "I mean, this would be very bad for Potter. If it were to get around. And _what_ would he think; if he knew that _you_ suggested it."

She crossed her arms. "Alright, Malfoy. What do you want?"

He snapped to attention. "Whatever you have, Granger. And it had better be good. I'm sure you can think of a favor or two."

She opened and closed her mouth several times before managing to find words. "I hope you aren't implying that…I mean, I have no desire to…I won't…" she gulped and turned bright red before she found the ability to finish her sentence. "I'm not going to perform any sexual favors for you, Malfoy."

Draco stared at her, dumbstruck. His mind's eye was blinded by the horrific picture she had just presented them with. "Why on earth would you think…that?" he asked weakly.

Now she was defensive. "Well, you seemed to be going that way," she said crossly. "What with asking me if I was going to kiss you, and then asking me for favors…I just thought I'd bring it out in the open."

Draco shook his head and sank against the wall. "No, Granger. Rest assured, I want nothing to do with your body."

"Oh," she said. Was it just Draco, or did she sound slightly disappointed? "Anyway," she said, clearing her throat. "I think I have a better idea. The Room of Requirement. Here, let's go." With those words, she took his hand and began sweeping him away, up and up and up the stairs, and stopped outside a blank wall.

"A wall," Draco said thoughtfully. "How clever of you, Granger. I don't think I've ever come across one of these."

"No, you haven't," she said impatiently. "There's a room behind this wall."

Draco gasped in mock-shock.

"Oh, will you _shut up_ and _listen to me!_" Granger snapped. "I'm trying to show you something—not anything like—_that," _she added hastily, as Draco opened his mouth to comment. "Look, you just—oh this isn't _worth_ it—but you walk by this stretch of wall three times, thinking what you want inside it, and it'll be there."

"Could I have a harem?" Draco wondered aloud.

Granger winced. "I don't _think_ so. Maybe. I've never tried getting a harem."

Draco grinned at Granger with a newfound appreciation. Maybe she _was _a Mudblood, but she was certainly a useful one. And surprisingly easy to manipulate. Draco could easily profit from this odd, school-wide obsession with Potter. Maybe he would thank Ginny Weasley for that. Later.

Granger tapped her foot impatiently. "So?" she said.

Draco stared at her blankly. "So what?"

"So I asked you a question, that's what!" she said crossly.

"_Oh_, that's _right_. You wondered if Potter was—"

"Gay, right. Well?"

Draco stared at her curiously. It was odd, imagining Potter hiding _anything_ from his two friends—up until a few weeks ago, when he had started actively _looking_, he had rarely seen the three of them apart.

"I really think you ought to ask him," Draco said slowly. How could she be so oblivious? Potter had _kissed _him. Draco vaguely wondered if he would ever want to do it again.

Granger was staring at him with something akin to respect on her face. "You really are something else, Malfoy," she said.

"By 'something else', I assume you mean 'brilliant'," said Draco. No one had ever claimed he was modest, after all.

Granger didn't seem to have any more thoughts about interrogating him. "Let's just go back to the hall," she said.

They walked back to the hall in silence. Draco was absorbed in his thoughts. _Should_ he have told Granger what he had known? He resolved to talk to Potter as soon as he had the chance. Whatever else he was, Draco wasn't one to walk away from a conflict, particularly when the resolution might turn out to be interesting.

When he and Granger had almost reached the Great Hall, Draco was stopped in his tracks by an odd, moaning sound. "Er, why don't you go on ahead of me?" he asked Granger nervously.

She sniffed but complied, holding her wand in front of her like a sword. "Honestly," she said. "_Slytherins_."

Draco was relieved at the sight of Pansy and Blaise, in exactly the same position Granger had left them in. "Don't you think you'd better free them?" he asked.

She stopped short, her face burning red. "I think someone already has!"

Draco leaned forward and looked closer. She was right—Pansy's hand was sliding along Blaise's back, and Blaise was doing something interesting with his tongue.

"_Oh_," said Draco, comprehension dawning. "So _that's_ what that moaning was. Hey—Pansy—Blaise!"

Blaise smiled cheerfully up at him. Pansy's lipstick was streaked across his face. "Hello, Draco!" he said cheerfully. "We wondered when you'd be back."

"Want to join us?" Pansy offered. "Nothing like a good snog to wake you up in the morning."

"No thank you," Draco said politely. "Maybe some other time."

"I think," Granger said decidedly. "That I will be sick, very shortly."

"Well, don't do it here," Pansy sniffed, but without the malice that was usually in her voice when speaking to Granger. "Blaise and I plan to stay here for a while."

Granger leaned against the door, breathing heavily. Draco opened it for her, and she jumped as if she had been hit.

"Thank you, Malfoy," she said weakly, hurrying to the Gryffindor table.

"Where are you going, Draco?" Pansy asked, as he made to follow.

"To talk to Potter," he said shortly, and followed Granger.

They ended up arriving at the table at almost exactly the same time.

"There you are, Hermione," Weasley said as she approached. "We wondered where you were—Harry thought you might have been killed.

If Potter had indeed thought so, he didn't bother to say. Instead, he stared directly at his pumpkin juice as if he were attempting some sort of communication with it, and turned very, very red.

"No," Draco said, very politely. "We were just off at a good snog, thanks."

Both boys looked up at this, Weasley to stare at Granger. Potter's eyes darted up to Draco's face, before turning back to his breakfast.

"You didn't, Hermione," Weasley said hoarsely. "Not with—not _him_."

"I did _not_!" Granger said defiantly, stomping her feet. "Ron, if you can't even trust me—"

"I do! But when you're—"

"Oh, don't give me that, you just—"

Now that those two were occupied with each other, Draco turned his full attention to Potter.

"Hello, Potter," he said warily.

Potter still seemed unable to look at him. "Malfoy," he said, by way of acknowledgment.

Draco was still not sure what he intended to say. But he'd had a good time last night. "So when do you think you can get in to Hogsmeade again?" he asked. "I mean if you want to, of course."

Potter was looking at him now—staring at him, in fact, horrified. "What are you trying to say?"

Draco blinked. Potter was making it very difficult for Draco to follow his train of thought. "Just that I thought it might be fun to go into Hogsmeade again," he said. Apparently, his masterful plan of ignoring The (drunken) Kiss was not going to succeed.

"Not for a while, Malfoy," Potter said carefully, staring determinedly at his toast. "And—and I'm sorry—"

"What for?"

"So that's all I have to say, and if you could, really, _leave me alone_. You've been doing that well enough for the past five years."

With that, he turned away, and Draco was left looking like an idiot, standing alone behind the Gryffindor table.

**Gasp! Poor Draco! Oh well...he'll get over it. Next chapter: more from the fan club, and lots and lots more Harry. Reviews are love!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Um, hi guys! It's been a while, hasn't it...Please don't kill me! I wish I had some awesome excuse, like I was off taming lions or swimming with sharks, but actually all I really have done the past few days is go to the zoo and watch Shark Week on Discovery Channel. Ooh, and I read Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrel, an excellent book. Anybody read it? Oh, and I had my room redone. It is now..."Velvet Slipper." That's the actual official name for the color. I wanted "Chocolate Sparkle", but I was overruled. And you all have my assurances that I was_ thinking_ about this fic the whole time I was so very occupied. Yes. I loved all your reviews, they made me so very happy. The next update should not take quite so long, hopefully, and if it does, hopefully I will have a plausible excuse. Like a natural disaster.**

**Chapter Seven: Draco Does Some Dirty Work**

"This meeting of the Society for the Admiration and Promotion of Harry, A Potter is officially called to order."

Colin sighed. "I think we should shorten the name," he said contemplatively.

Ginny looked up from her clipboard and glared. "That's not the way we do things, Colin," she said sharply. "If you really want to change the name, grab a form and submit it to the agenda. When—_if—_it clears committee, we can hold a procedural vote. But I wouldn't hold your breath."

Padma frowned. "You know, I've never really thought that made sense," she mused aloud. "I mean, Ginny, _you're_ the committee. And _you_ were the one that came up with that stupid name."

"I've always been rather fond of 'Heroic and Admirable Harry,'" Millicent said. "HAH. Remember? I suggested that our first meeting."

Ginny blushed, flustered. "Yes, well…"

"How about Scar-Headed Idiotic Twat?" Draco suggested.

Colin frowned. "Wait, doesn't that spell—"

"Yes, we can all spell," Ginny interrupted hastily. "Anyway, Draco, I thought you liked Harry."

Millicent smirked. Draco defied all laws of humanity and skin-color and grew even paler. _Millicent _knew what had happened at breakfast this morning. Draco, in his stupidity, had told Pansy, who in turn had told Blaise, who had been kind enough to inform the entire House of Draco's personal life and was currently sitting, petrified, in the back of a broom cupboard. Not that Draco had anything to do with that.

"I never liked that git," Draco informed the group, very loudly. "Never ever. He's a stupid bastard, as far as I'm concerned. And—well, if I ever thought differently, then he set me straight, didn't he?"

Millicent had to stifle a giggle.

"I have seen the light," Draco intoned. "The light at the end of the tunnel. It used to not be there because Potter's big head was blocking it."

"That's nice, Draco," Ginny said tolerantly. "And to think, just a few days ago you were complaining that you couldn't spy on him."

"I have put away my childish things and become a man," Draco informed her solemnly.

Luna smiled. "It's so difficult to take you seriously," she said.

Draco stared at her. "You're not exactly one to talk, Loony."

She clapped her hands happily. "Oh, you even know my nickname!"

"Padma!" Ginny said delightedly, as if she was only now noticing that Padma was in the room. "I'm so happy you're here! You can tell us all about what Harry's been up to today. Since Draco isn't doing it anymore, and everything."

Padma raised an eyebrow at Ginny's enthusiastic behavior, but didn't otherwise seem to be bothered. "He hasn't done much, actually," she reported. "I've only seen him a few times, sulking around the halls. Without Ron and Hermione, actually."

At this, everyone but Draco gasped loudly.

"Oh, _poor_ Harry!" Millicent wailed.

Colin patted her shoulder sympathetically. "But he'll soldier through, and so must we," he declared bravely.

"I don't get it," Draco said. "What's the big deal?"

The rest of the group exchanged exasperated glances, as if they were considering how to deal with a deliberately ignorant child.

"Harry only leaves Ron and Hermione when he's _really upset_," Ginny informed him in a hushed voice.

"What, are they attached at the hip or something? Does the boy have no independent thought?"

"He saw someone _die_!" Colin Creevey whispered.

"Yes, and I've seen my father naked. Both very traumatizing experiences. But I still don't understand why he doesn't just ditch them once in a while."

"That'—that's not the _point_," Padma insisted. "The point is, Harry has been very upset all day, and I've no idea why, and I'm _worried_ about him, that's what."

"We're _all_ worried," Millicent said softly, and the others murmured their agreement.

"Not me!" Draco announced. "I hope the bloody git wallows in his sorrows. I hope he throws himself off of the astronomy tower. I _don't_ care about him. Not one bit. Never have."

Luna looked astonished. "But isn't he your brother? My father says—"

"My father was _not_ responsible for that moody freak!" Draco said hysterically. "Nor my mother, just so we're clear."

"Does everybody have to bring their fathers into this?" Ginny wondered aloud. "_My_ father has the largest private collection of spark plugs in Europe, but you certainly don't hear _me_ bragging about it."

"That's probably a smart move," Draco advised her.

Colin cleared his throat loudly. "_Anyway_," he said. "The point is, Harry's upset, and we need to do something about it."

"Set his hair on fire? It could only be an improvement."

"No," Ginny said thoughtfully. "I think we should start spending more time planning his party, since it's coming up so soon."

"Ooh! I had the most _perfect_ idea for a decorating scheme!" Millicent squealed.

Draco sighed, and tried his very best to ignore her and the rest of the club as they waved their arms and shouted out ideas. It was a dull, rainy afternoon; and Draco, deep in the castle, could hardly have heard it falling on the windows and rooftops. But, or so he imagined, he could _feel_ it well enough. He was certainly every bit as melancholy as Potter. But no one was going out of their way to cheer _him_ up. They were leaving him alone with his thoughts, which seemed to begin and end with Potter and really weren't much comfort.

It started with the fact that he had actually sort of become _friends_ with Potter the past few weeks, whether he liked it or not (and he most certainly did _not_). But Potter was—well, he was a lot more tolerable than Draco had thought, and funnier; and while the noble hero savior thing was bloody annoying, it was also sort of endearing.

And so. There was all of _that_.

And now there was _this_. That Potter no longer wanted to have anything to do with him. Which Draco didn't have a problem with, he reminded himself. Not at all.

But then again—if Potter would just _talk_ to him—

"What do you think, Draco?" Colin asked. "Would orange be better for the streamers, or gold? I was thinking that orange would represent—"

"Puce," Draco said dully. "I think that everything should be puce and taupe."

Yes, Draco decided. If only he could _talk_ to Potter, everything would be fine, one way or another. They could either go back to mutual hatred, which was fun and a little exhausting and which Potter seemed to be favoring; or they could be friends, which was just as fun and much less tiring.

There was absolutely no need to acknowledge anything else. Draco certainly would rather not.

"I don't know, Draco, do you think you could get a Crumple-Horned Snorkack for Harry's party?" Luna wondered. "Only_ I _don't know where to get one, but my father says that you have a _menagerie_ at Malfoy Manor, and I _would_ break in but that seems _rude_ now that—"

"We have albino peacocks," Draco informed her haughtily. "That is as far as I go."

They had been _drunk_, for god's sake. It didn't _count_ if you were drunk. It wasn't an experience Draco cared to repeat; drunk, sober, or tied to a hippogriff.

It wasn't as if Potter were an especially good kisser, or anything. Granted, he was probably the best kiss Draco had had in a _while_, but his main competition was Pansy, Blaise, some third year, and Gregory Goyle. And yes, the thing he had done with his tongue had been quite nice, but Draco had been in an alcohol induced haze at the time and could hardly remember it. Probably Potter had been licking his nose, or something equally disgusting. Obviously, that's not how he _remembered_ it, but he couldn't even trust his own memory, clouded as it was with the deceptive wiles of firewhiskey.

No need for a repeat experience of _that_.

So Draco would talk to him. He was a Gryffindor, and an utter idiot, but he was also altruistic and the kind of person who might listen to Draco.

And so, decided on his next course of action, he stood, stretched, and headed for the door.

"Draco Malfoy!" Ginny said indignantly. "Just _where_ do you think you're going?"

Draco stopped short, remembering all too well his attempted escape at the first meeting. "Out," he said crossly. "You can't make me stay."

He was surprised when no one stopped him, but even more surprised when Ginny stood up as he was leaving.

"I think I'll come with you," she said brightly, and Draco could think of no reason why she couldn't, except for, "I'm going to talk to Harry Potter." And he didn't exactly fancy telling _her_ that he wanted to talk to the Scar-Headed Idiotic Twat.

She managed to convey some last minute instructions to the rest of the club as she was leaving.

"Luna," she said gravely, as she handed over her clipboard and quill. "I'll expect you to take charge while I'm out. I _know_ you can handle your duties well."

"Oh, come on," Draco said irritably, grabbing her by the wrist and tugging her away.

"Don't let me down!" Ginny called over her shoulder as Draco led her down the hallway.

Aside from occasionally glaring at each other, they walked in relative peace until they reached a staircase. "Where were you going, anyway?" Ginny asked him curiously.

"Nowhere," Draco growled.

"Well, that's good," she said. "Then we can talk."

Draco gulped. _He_ remembered the last time Ginny Weasley had wanted to talk to him.

"I've been meaning to bring this up for a while," she said. "Draco, the fact is, it doesn't feel like we have your full _heart_, and your _soul_. Are you really dedicated to this club?"

Draco stared at her as if she'd suddenly sprouted an extra head. "No!" he said. "Did you swallow something in Potions? You blackmailed me into this, and now you're asking for my _heart_ and my _soul_?"

"Not anymore," she said grimly. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about. You see, Draco...hmm, I don't know how to put this, but—I don't know if you're _suited_, really, to the atmosphere of trust and tolerance and Harry Potter admiration that I'm trying to foster."

"So? Get to the point."

She sighed heavily and looked away. "The point, Draco," she said sadly. "Is that I'm afraid we're going to have to ask you to leave the club." Draco turned to her, startled. She patted his shoulder sympathetically. "There are lots of other clubs you can join," she said gently. "Lots of fan clubs even, if you like those. Why, there's even a fan club for—" she cut herself off abruptly. "I _am_ sorry, but you never seemed to like it much anyway."

Which was true. Draco _didn't_ like it, and he never had, but—he wanted an excuse to be around Potter. Even if it was only an excuse for himself.

"But you _need _me," he pleaded, rather desperately. "For the party. I'm bringing the peacocks."

She sighed. "Also, I don't know that the peacocks are a good idea. I don't think Dumbledore would mind, but do we really want peacock feathers in our snack mix?"

"They're al_bino_," Draco protested. "We had them specially bred in Algeria."

"I always thought the whole point of peacocks was to be bright and colorful," she said. "There's nothing special about them if they're _white_. They might as well be giant white turkeys."

Draco gave a strangled cry, meant to indicate fury.

"Well, Draco, if that's it then," she said placidly, and wandered off.

And, left to his own devices, Draco wandered off to find Harry Potter.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

Compared to the incident at breakfast, their next meeting went remarkably well, Draco thought.

Potter was in the library—alone, as Padma had said, and shredding a Potions essay to bits.

"Hello, Potter," Draco said warily. "I thought we might talk."

"Quit it with the insinuations!" Potter said hysterically. "I want nothing to do with you!"

Draco frowned. "And I want to _talk_ to you, you stupid prat, but you're making that a bit difficult, aren't you?"

"I should hope so," Potter said, shoving a pile of his things into a bag. "I'm leaving now. Don't follow me."

"Of course not," Draco said. "But by a happy coincidence, I, too, am leaving the library. We can walk together."

"No, we _can't_," Potter said, shoving his Transfiguration book into his bag with what Draco felt was unwarranted venom.

"Then I'll talk, and you can listen," Draco said, still not at all sure what he actually intended to talk _about_.

"Oh, stop _harassing_ me, Malfoy!" Potter exclaimed. "I know it's a hobby of yours, but if you could be _nice_ for one day, I'd want it to be today. And I know you can—because the past few weeks you've actually been—oh, I don't even know, but I know you aren't _always_ such a prat."

Draco blinked at him. Potter seemed rather shocked that they hadn't killed each other yet, and stared back. For quite a long time. Potter was breathing heavily through his nose, and Draco felt the skin on the back of his neck prickle as the warmth hit his cheeks. It wasn't, as Draco would have expected, unpleasant to be this near Potter. He would have thought there would be awkwardness at the least after their meeting in Hogsmeade—but this felt good, and natural. Whenever Draco was normally this close to Potter, there were fists involved, and that felt good too, a kind of release—but this was an entirely different kind of pleasure, one that Draco couldn't define.

Potter seemed to recognize it, too. Draco saw that in the way he twisted his lips as if he were going to say something, leaned forward as if he were going to whisper a secret.

Then, with a howl of rage, he shook himself and hurried away.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

"My intentions are misunderstood," Draco informed Pansy that evening, as he lay on the couch and she stroked his hair. "All I want to do is talk to the dirty git. I'm not going to hex him, though he seems intent on _forcing_ me to."

"Poor Draco," she cooed sympathetically. "Poor, misunderstood Draco."

"It's because I'm a Slytherin," Draco said darkly. "Potter _hates_ me based on our house stereotype, the slimy prejudiced little Gryffindor."

"If only Blaise were here," Pansy said wistfully. "Blaise would know what to do. But I haven't seen him all day, have you?"

Draco pinked. "No, not once," he said, in a voice rather higher than his normal one. "I'm sure he's around here somewhere. Heh."

Pansy didn't seem to notice anything unusual. "And you're sure you just want to _talk_ to Potter?" she asked delicately.

"Pansy!" Draco said indignantly, swatting her hand away. "Of course I'm sure! What do you take me for?"

She shrugged. "It's just," she said. "You seem a little worked up for just missing out on talking. I've never thought Potter was that scintillating for conversation, myself. You seem a bit obsessed. There's always me to talk to, you know. Though I suppose," she mused. "You two have always had a bit of an odd relationship, haven't you?"

"Our relationship," Draco informed her haughtily. "Is formed of nothing but bitter virulence and loathing. I wouldn't expect you to understand, Pansy."

She sighed. "Maybe Blaise would, if he was around."

Draco quickly made his excuses and left.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

But the next afternoon, he found himself remarkably unoccupied. Since he'd become a Saphaprodite, he'd become an expert on finishing homework the day it was assigned. Now that he'd been expelled from the club, he found he had very little to do with his extra time.

Very little to do indeed. Except to look for Harry Potter.

Today, Potter was on the Quidditch Pitch. He'd been banned a few months ago, Draco recalled. Draco had practically squealed with glee when he'd heard the news.

"Do you miss it much?" Draco asked—a perfectly friendly, sane conversation starter.

"Miss _what_?" Potter shrieked, jumping as if he'd been slapped. He looked terrified (worthless Gryffindor), and Draco had a fleeting, inexplicable urge to touch his face or his back and say something comforting close in his ear; accompanied by a curious surge of the feeling he'd had in the library yesterday.

Since, under the present circumstances, that was impossible, Draco's feelings manifested themselves in very convenient insults. "Quidditch, you arse," Draco said irritably. "You're standing in the middle of the Quidditch pitch staring at the sky. What did you _think_ I was talking about?"

Potter considered him, and looked as if he might actually give a serious answer, before shaking himself in that peculiar way he had and glaring.

"Why are you so _nasty?_" he wailed. "I asked Ron why you keep tormenting me, and he said it's probably blackmail, so whatever you want, Malfoy, just _tell_ me!"

"I'm not tormenting you!" Draco shouted. "I am _trying_ to talk to you, and I know you like Quidditch and I do too so I thought we could _talk_ about it! Like normal people!"

"I have lots of money," Potter prattled on obliviously. "Lots of galleons."

"Why would I want your money? I'm a Malfoy, I have more money than you could dream of, Potter."

"Well then, what do you want?" Potter yelled shrilly. "I don't have anything else…except…oh, Merlin." Potter's face became a peculiar shade of green. Draco noted that a lot about Potter tended to be green—eyes, face—well, that was it, really, but if he'd been Slytherin…

"This sprinting away from your problems thing is not a good solution!" Draco yelled as Potter ran away. "It is not recommended.

And it was good riddance that he wasn't in Slytherin. House standards weren't _that_ low. Not yet.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

No one in the Common Room that night minded that Draco was sulking, rather than doing his homework or tormenting first years or any of the other things he generally did. They were too busy looking for Blaise.

"Blaise?" Pansy said fretfully, peering behind a tapestry. "Blaise!"

Crabbe and Goyle stood in the middle of the room with their arms crossed. "Ollie ollie oxen free!" Crabbe bellowed.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are!" Goyle bawled.

"Blaise!" Pansy shrieked, nearly in tears. "Blaise, where are you?"

"I _don't_ think he's in the vase, Pansy," Draco told her dryly.

_He_ certainly wasn't worried about the Blaise situation. No one would expel Draco, with his father on the Board of Governors.

Oh, and he had been bringing Blaise food twice a day in his little cupboard. So all was well.

At least on that particular front. Concerning Harry Potter, Draco was getting a bit worried. It felt _odd_ going so long without fighting with him. Then again, it was hard to get into a fight with someone who kept running away from you at every turn.

It wasn't Draco's fault, after all. He _wanted_ to be around Harry Potter—to talk to him, to see him smile, to—

Millicent sat down beside him. They had barely spoken since Draco had been unceremoniously kicked out of SAPHAP.

"Hello, Draco," she said.

"Millicent."

"The club's not getting on very well," she told him.

Draco, against his will, found he was curious. "Yeah? How's that?"

She sighed heavily. "Well," she began. "You know how Ginny gave Luna the clipboard while she went to talk to you? Well, she wouldn't give it _back_."

Draco laughed. "What?"

"Yes, apparently, she and Padma Patil have been plotting an overthrow for some time now."

"Ravenclaws." Only they would be stupid enough to get involved in a power-struggle in a Harry Potter club.

Millicent looked distant. "Yes, it was quite amusing," she said. "I think at the moment we're officially known as the Official Snorkack Locating And Knowledge Absorbing Ladies Association. OSLAKALA. Ginny's threatening to leave and take all her Harry posters, and Colin's very offended that we made it the _ladies_ association. I _told_ him it wouldn't make sense to be the gentleman's association, since we only have one, but…"

"You _would_ have more than one," Draco sniffed. "If you hadn't thrown me out like so much garbage."

She patted his hand kindly. "I don't think you're garbage," she said kindly. "Just a bit annoying. Anyway…have _you_ seen Blaise?"

Draco shook his head firmly.

"Your friend Pansy Parkinson threatened to curse me if I didn't help look for him," she said.

"Oh," Draco said blankly. "Well…and good riddance. I will curse you, too. Because I am _very_ concerned about Blaise. Because he is one of my best friends, and I have no idea where he's gotten to."

She laughed. "Well, I hope we find him, then."

Draco nodded fervently. "So do I," he said. "So do I."

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

The next day, he skipped class with the help of one of his last Puking Pastilles, and followed Potter around instead. Which, Draco knew Pansy would say, seemed a bit odd for just wanting to talk to him—but really, she had no idea what she was talking about.

He ran into Padma Patil, doing the exact same thing.

"What are _you_ doing here, Draco?" she hissed.

It wasn't as if he was about to say, 'Spying on Potter, nice day for it.' "None of your business, Patil," he said shortly.

She laughed incredulously. "You're spying on Harry, aren't you?"

Damn Ravenclaws.

"That's what _you're_ doing, if I'm not mistaken," he said quietly, peering around a corner to see Potter having a frenzied conversation with Granger.

"Well, yes," she said, making a mark in her notebook. "The club assigned me to. What's _your _excuse?"

"Oh, bugger off, Patil," he said crossly, and stalked away.

There was another day wasted.

The night, on the other hand—

Draco thought his Potter-watching must have gotten to his nerves, because that night's dreams featured several rounds of Harry Potter.

Most were fairly normal—Potter playing Quidditch, Potter at Potions, Potter eating breakfast. Only in the dream, Draco seemed to have heightened senses of some sort, because he noticed all sorts of things—Potter's hair, for one, blowing around his face like some sort of demented hat; and his hands, which in the dream had long fingers and bitten nails. And his eyes, which were green and long and wide.

"But I noticed that before," said Dream-Draco. "I knew your eyes were green."

And this was where Draco's subconscious took a total U-turn—because suddenly they were back at Hogsmeade (sober this time), and Draco could see Harry's eyes (still green), and then they were kissing, with tongues and hands and warmth. And in the dream, Draco didn't mind.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

It was amazing, though, what you could learn about someone just by watching them for a few days. And Potter, Draco learned, was fairly insane.

He wandered corridors at odd hours of the night. He willingly visited their monstrosity of a gamekeeper whenever he had the chance. He tended to mutter to himself on a fairly regular basis. And not once did he realize that someone was following him around.

Draco got over any qualms he might have had about spying on Harry Potter quickly enough. After all, he reasoned, he'd been spying on Potter for several weeks now, anyway. It was just that now he was more of a free agent.

Besides—it was _fun_ to watch Potter.

Another thing Draco had noticed about him was that he tended to walk into deserted classrooms. This wouldn't be such an odd occurrence—there were _plenty_ of things a teenage boy could do in an empty room—if it didn't so happen that he was usually followed by Pansy, Greg, Vince, Mandy Brocklehurst, and the third year he had kissed on the stairs a few days ago.

At first, Draco thought that they must be planning on beating Potter up, and silently applauded his loyal subjects. But it soon became clear that wasn't the case, as Potter usually came out around an hour later looking unscathed, if a little grouchy.

The next thing to leap to Draco's mind was ORGY, which he had a disturbingly easy time picturing.

With the vaguest notion in his head of talking to Potter about it, he confronted him one more time.

"Hey, Potter," he said.

Potter whirled around, startled. "Oh, Malfoy," he said warily. "What are you doing here?"

"I'd like to talk to you, you stupid git," Draco said. "That's what I've been trying to do the last few days, you know."

Potter looked around warily, then seemed to relax. "It might help if you didn't start off by insulting me," he suggested.

Draco shrugged. "Habit," he explained.

They walked without talking, down the corridor, past a row of Charms classrooms, before either of them felt like speaking.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking the past few days," Potter said, staring determinedly at the ground. "It was rude of me to keep running away from you—so, I'm sorry."

Draco wasn't quite sure how to react to that. Apologetic was not a mood he generally encountered. "Good for you, Potter," he said encouragingly.

Potter took a deep breath. "And Hermione's been talking to me a lot. She said she talked to you, too." He looked expectantly at Draco, as if hoping he would supply the next line in this awkward encounter. When Draco refused to comply, he said, "It was good of you not to tell her that—I mean, that you—well, you knew, and you didn't tell her."

Why did all of Draco's recent conversations with Gryffindors seem to revolve around Harry Potter's sexuality?

"This is all very good and noble of you," Draco said approvingly. "But I have to tell you, I still don't quite understand the point of this conversation."

Potter looked at him sideways. "You've been the one so eager to talk to me the past few days. What was that all about?"

"I don't know," Draco said sullenly. "Do I need a reason to want to talk to you?"

Potter smiled slightly at that statement, and Draco realized how ridiculous he must sound. "Usually you would," Potter said. "It's not as if we're friends or anything, Malfoy."

Draco was surprised to find himself slightly hurt at Potter's statement. It was true, they weren't really friends—or they hadn't been—but Draco wanted to be.

"I don't know if you remember," Potter said edgily. "But after we ate dinner—when we were leaving Hogsmeade—"

"I remember," Draco cut in sharply. "I guess you do, too."

"Well, yeah," he said. "That's why I've been avoiding you the past few days."

Oh, lovely. Draco was such a horrible kisser that he drove people away simply by the power of his lips.

"And that's the same reason you've been following me around, right?" Potter said, without bothering to check for confirmation. "I was pretty sure you were going to heckle me about it, or something."

"You," Draco said succinctly. "Are a prat."

"That's pretty much what Hermione told me," Potter said, ashamed. "She says that if you were going to be horrible you would have told the whole school already."

"Exactly!" Draco said, delighted with Granger's logic. "That girl should have been a Slytherin."

Potter looked as if he were going to gag. "No, Malfoy, I think Hermione is a very good Gryffindor."

Draco rolled his eyes. "_You're_ so stupid, you could have been a Hufflepuff."

Potter rolled his eyes in turn, but otherwise made no comment. "I thought Hermione's idea made sense," he said. "But then Ron said that maybe you were just going to blackmail me. And honestly, Malfoy, that made a lot of sense, too. You've never been anything other than a git."

Draco scowled. "I treated you to a very nice dinner."

"Yes, a dinner which you essentially _stole_," Potter pointed out. Draco shrugged—that was beside the point. "So anyway, Malfoy," he continued after a silence. "Which is it?"

"I'm not blackmailing you, Potter," Draco said shortly. "And I wanted to talk to you because I had _fun_ in Hogsmeade, and I thought we could go again." And we could be friends, he added in his head. He was still fairly unclear on _why_ he wanted to be friends with Potter, but then Potter smiled and Draco thought, that might just be it.

Potter relaxed considerably, and stopped walking entirely. Draco turned to see what was the matter with him, and Potter reddened and took a step forward, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

"I—IthinkIlikeyouquiteabit," he choked out in a strangled voice, and before Draco had a chance to decipher some of what he had said, Potter quite deliberately leaned forward and kissed him.

It took Draco a minute to react. And by that time Potter had one hand on his chest and another on his waist, and Draco barely had time to wonder if he wanted to do this before his own hand was in Potter's hair and he was getting a close-up on Potter's eyelids before his own fluttered shut. Potter's breath was warm and his mouth was hot; wet, sweet—just like his dream of a few nights previous, which disturbed Draco more than anything else. And so, though he still had very little control over his own body, Draco pushed him away.

He wasn't about to kiss bloody Potter. Even if it did feel a bit nice, and even if maybe Pansy _was_ right and he did want to do a bit more than talk with Potter. This was simply Not Happening.

"What the _hell_ was _that_, Potter?"

Potter ran a hand through his hair and looked generally very flustered and confused. "I don't know, Malfoy," he said loudly. "But you certainly didn't seem to mind!"

"What do you mean you don't know, you ignorant bugger? You did it!"

"I mean that—"

"And of course I _minded_, I bloody shoved you off me, didn't I, you—you—you mol_ester_."

"Me? You're the one who's been following me around all week, and then at Hogsmeade, you—what am I supposed to think, you git?"

By this point, they had moved beyond Speaking Loudly and had moved into Yelling Outrageously, which Draco fully utilized. "That wasn't _me _doing any of that in Hogsmeade, it was _you_, you just _want_ me to snog you, don't you, you bloody wanker, don't you?"

Potter's face was red—more from embarrassment than anger, Draco thought, though it was hard to be sure—and Draco almost felt sorry. Because Potter had a point, didn't he—Draco _had_ been following him around, and really he didn't mind the kissing.

"If you think this is some sort of wish fulfillment—look, what am I _supposed_ to think—you're just a stupid bloody _coward_, that's what you are, and you don't what to own up to what you actually feel--"

"I know what I _think_," Draco said hotly. "I think you're an arrogant ass, and I wish I'd never met you, you pompous—"

That, surprisingly, seemed to be The Line for Potter, and Draco had apparently crossed it, because Potter punched him straight in the eye.

And fighting, Draco discovered, was alarmingly like snogging with Potter—because they were suddenly touching each other again, in the back and chest, ears eyes nose mouth; hard and sharp—atop, beside, below—Draco considered, once, simply grabbing the back of Potter's neck and kissing him, which would be just as fun and a hell of a lot less painful.

But Potter wasn't about to allow that. He was angry, with himself and Draco, and punching for all he was worth and Draco's nose was bleeding and—

As soon as he found himself pinning Draco to the ground, he leapt to his feet.

"That was stupid," he said abruptly. "I don't know how I could ever had expected you to—listen, I'll just leave, Malfoy."

Draco swallowed and nodded.

But perhaps he had missed a lesson or two when it came to Basic English, because he certainly didn't grasp the meaning of "I'll just leave." At least he was quite shocked when Potter actually left, and he found himself staring at the spot where Potter had been for ages.

Finally, he managed to rouse himself from his trancelike state. "Bloody Potter," he muttered, and stalked off to the dungeons.

**Oh, I hope you liked it! I was a bit iffy on it myself, because since it's all in Draco's POV we don't have much explanation for Harry's actions, but I hope I didn't bungle it too much. Anyway, I am eagerly awaiting your thoughts/curses/flames. Feedback is love.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hi guys! I am _so _sorry this took so long! I meant to have it up about three weeks ago, but then school interfered. You know. Anyway, this is the longest chapter yet. I hope that'll make up for it some what. I love all the reviews you guys are giving, and thanks to everyone who's favorited this or added it to their alerts list--sorry for the shoddy update time. **

**Chapter Eight: Draco in Denial**

Draco slammed the heavy dungeons door behind him.

"Pansy!" he yelled.

She was sprawled casually across a couch, painting her nails a rather unflattering shade of orange. She didn't even bother to look up as he entered. "Yes, Draco," she said tiredly.

Aside from Pansy, the Common Room was entirely deserted except for three first years giggling over a magazine. "Get out, underlings," Draco ordered. "I am not in the mood to deal with you."

One of the boys glared up at him. They weren't in Slytherin for nothing, after all. "What'll you give us?"

Pansy continued to paint her nails. "Listen, you little pricks," she said. "If you _don't_ leave we'll curse you all into a pile of goo."

The trio jumped. They hadn't noticed Pansy.

"Take your pick," she offered. "Personally, I like the goo option, but…"

They were gone before she finished her sentence. Pansy cackled wickedly, and Draco smiled at her.

As soon as she saw the look on his face, Pansy jumped to her feet. "What's wrong with you?" she demanded.

Draco sighed. He prided himself, usually, on being able to control his expressions—but not where Pansy was concerned.

"You know me too well," he informed her, and sank into the couch closest to the fire.

She touched his shoulder. "So tell me," she said. "Don't be stupid."

Draco glared at her fingers resting near his collar. "_Don't_, Pansy," he said. "You'll get paint in my hair."

"It's not paint, it's nail polish," she said haughtily, but removed her hand. "And anyway, don't think you're changing the subject that easily."

Draco tilted his head back and closed his eyes. There really was no reason to try to hide it from her. She'd find out eventually. But—no, there was no reason _not_ to tell her. He didn't care about hurting Potter's feelings. He didn't care about Potter, period.

"Bloody Potter," he announced, mustering up far more anger than he actually felt. "Kissed me again."

Pansy gasped. "Again? Oh, and Draco, you weren't even drunk this time."

Draco was beginning to feel decidedly odd. Maybe this wasn't the best idea.

"Well," he said. "No, I wasn't."

"And he wasn't either?"

"Um. Not that I noticed."

Pansy looked at him sharply, leaned in, staring at his lips.

"No, Pansy!" Draco said. "I don't know when you'll understand—I don't want—"

Pansy grabbed his shoulder to prevent him from moving away. "I'm not going to kiss you," she said irritably. "Arse."

"Oh." Draco relaxed considerably. "Well—what is it, then?"

She frowned and wrinkled her nose. "You," she said. "Hmm."

Her face was extremely close to his. Draco made sure to breathe through his nose. He probably had Potter breath. As annoying as Pansy was sometimes, he certainly wouldn't want her to suffer _that_.

Not Potter was _that_ bad. What Draco had tasted in his mouth, actually, was toothpaste, and a sort of tangy, fruity something, and…and…and it was completely disturbing that he was thinking about this at all, that's what.

"Well?" he asked Pansy impatiently, more to distract himself than anything. "What brilliant conclusion have you reached?"

She sniggered. "That must have been _some_ kiss," she said.

Draco felt something remarkably similar to dread growing in the pit of his stomach. "What do you mean?"

She patted his shoulder and went back to her nails. "Go look in a mirror, Draco," she suggested, sounding almost sorry for him.

So Draco did. There was one on the couch next to Pansy, but he wasn't sure he was up to doing this around _people_. The next nearest one was in the bathroom—but the house-elves hadn't cleaned it yet today, and Draco was _not_ going in there anytime after Vince had.

"I'm going to the dorms," he informed Pansy. "Do you think you can handle things in my absence?"

Pansy gazed around the empty room. "Um, yeah, I think I can manage," she said, stifling a laugh. Everyone had learned, long ago, not to mess with Draco when he was like this. Everyone who still possessed all four limbs, anyway.

It turned out to be a good idea that Draco was far, far away from anyone else when he first got a glimpse of his reflection.

There was something wrong with his face.

Considering that Draco, in general, was absolutely perfect, that was saying something. But—

His collar was undone. That was the first thing he noticed, though he had no idea how it had happened. He had a vague memory of Potter's hands near his neck, hot fingers on his collarbone, and a tugging, but this was—

Draco calmly buttoned the collar, and went on to examine the rest of himself.

The next very noticeable thing was his hair. He had a routine for his hair in the morning: a spoon of Sleekeazy's combed in, back to front, with a softening potion mixed in for good measure. Now, though—his hair was spiked up in the back, with locks falling out around his ears and hairline.

_This_, at least, Draco remembered happening. There had been Potter's hands, in his hair, weaving in and out—rough, maybe, a little painful, but still—

Draco shook his head at his reflection, pulled his comb out of his trunk, and smoothed his hair until it looked exactly the same as it always did.

So his collar and hair were fixed. But Pansy had been looking at his lips. Hoping to figure out what _that_ was all about, he murmured a quick spell ("_Lumos!"_) and gasped at what he saw.

What had not been apparent by lamplight quickly revealed itself by wandlight. Draco's lips, red and swollen, and the area around them too—like he'd taken one of the more horrible shades of Pansy's lipstick and smeared it around his face with no clear idea of what he was doing.

He knew what _that_ came from.

If only he'd been quicker—pushed Potter away just a few seconds earlier, or realized what he was going to do and dodged, then—

Well, then he wouldn't have gotten kissed, that's what. And, said a small rebellious corner of his mind, it wasn't half bad, as kisses went.

But that was a dangerous train of thought, one Draco abandoned as quickly as he took it up. Blaise, he knew, had some potion designed explicitly for this kind of thing. It only took a few moments of digging to find it, and he smeared more than half of the little vial across his lips, before returning downstairs to find Pansy exactly where he had left her.

"Better?" he asked hopefully.

She smiled. "Much. Draco, you never told us Potter was a good kisser."

"He's not!" Draco protested automatically.

She made a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat. "He can't be too bad, if you end up looking like that," she said.

Draco glared. "Yes, well," he huffed. "Anyway. Let's not talk about this anymore."

"It never happened," she promised, and then reconsidered. "But just because _I'm_ not going to talk about it doesn't mean _you_ shouldn't think about it."

"Why would I want to do that?"

She raised her eyebrows. "No reason," she said lightly.

"You really are a ridiculous girl, Pansy," Draco said, not without some admiration.

She rolled her eyes and went back to her nails—she was now adorning them with tiny rhinestone P's. "That's what I'm here for," she said dryly.

Draco didn't bother to say anything to her, just turned around and headed towards the door.

It was time to feed Blaise.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

But Draco never got where he was going. Instead, he was intercepted by a contingent from Harry Potter's fan club. Or, as Draco quickly realized, his _former_ fan club.

Luna was in the lead. Ginny trotted miserably behind her, hanging her head and shuffling her feet. Next came Millicent and Colin, looking slightly confused as to what they were doing, but otherwise perfectly happy. Padma brought up the rear, with a set and determined look on her face. They were all wearing florescent pink shirts with moving glittery pictures of unidentifiable creature. Draco had to squint to look at them.

"Draco!" Colin said happily as he approached. "How are you?"

"I feel like I was trampled by a hippogriff," Draco responded promptly.

"We've missed you on our last few meetings," Millicent said gently.

"Why don't you join us?" Luna offered. "We are marching through the castle, igniting students to rebellion. Soon, with only the power of our hearts, we will control the wizarding world!"

Draco stared at her. "That's a stupid plan," he said, while subtly trying to conceal the fizzing whizbees he had been bringing to Blaise behind his cloak.

"Well," Padma said pragmatically. "Not _just_ the power of our minds. We have some torches and pitchforks in the Common Room. But they're sort of heavy, so we didn't want to carry them around yet."

"How medieval," Draco said delicately. "But I think your shirts will do more damage than pitchforks, anyway."

"We have some extras, if you want to march with us," Colin offered. "Ginny and I made them for a Charms project. We got a P."

"He can't join!" Ginny howled. "I kicked him out!"

"You are no longer in charge of this operation, Ginny," Millicent said, an evil glint in her eye. Draco suddenly realized, in rush of horror, how very bad it would be for Millicent to control the world.

"Why exactly do you want to take over?" he asked.

Padma chewed her lip thoughtfully. "Hmm," she said. "I hadn't actually thought that over."

Luna smiled dreamily. "No longer will the bonds of government hold back the people," she said. "Soon, the human race will truly be able to spread its wings and soar; free from the constraints of laws and officials."

Draco blinked. "So—you're anarchists, then?"

Colin frowned. "What's an anarchist?"

"Freedom of spirit requires no name," Luna said wistfully. "Rather, let us simply cast off our fetters and rise up above the common bonds."

Millicent clapped slowly. "That's a lovely sentiment, Luna," she said.

Padma brushed away a tear. "Freedom!"

Draco took a step back. "So. You guys are done with Harry Potter then?"

Colin shook his head violently. "Oh, _never_," he said, aghast. "Harry is what brought us all together. We can't just _abandon _him."

"Besides," Ginny said, looking happy for the first time that day. "Once we overthrow the Ministry, we plan to install Harry as the Overlord."

Draco nodded slowly.

"And did you know Harry is actually a Snorkack?" Luna asked. "He only keeps human form in order to attend Hogwarts. But someday…someday…"

"Well, that's a very nice plan," Draco said indulgently. "I've got to be going now."

"Wait!" Millicent screeched as he turned. "Are you coming to our Harry Potter birthday party this Friday?"

Draco sped up. He had absolutely no intention of going to any parties of any kind for Harry Potter. But he was willing to say absolutely anything to get rid of them. "Sure," he said. "Sure. I'll be there."

Draco broke into a sprint as he turned the next corner. A ghostly chorus sounded behind his back.

"_We'll be waiting, Draco_…"

Of course, there was a small part of Draco that actually thought that that going to Potter's birthday party might not actually be the end of the world.

Parties, after all, were times for reconciliation. Surely Potter wouldn't be able to hold a grudge at his own birthday party. Not with all those people around him, and butterbeer and firewhisky.

As much as Potter was disgusting and presumptuous and altogether not worth it (though Draco had to keep reminding himself of that part)—he'd liked talking to him. That was the part he couldn't get past. Draco loved his friends in Slytherin—but it was _nice_ having someone to talk to from somewhere else, and it was nice that that person was Harry Potter. Potter, who he'd always fought and hated—but whose opinion, inexplicably, mattered. He cared more what Potter thought of him than he did what Greg or Vince thought, after all.

Draco did not sleep that night.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

The next morning the entire Slytherin House skipped class to look for the missing Blaise Zabini.

Pansy had organized the whole thing.

"Draco," she said. "You'll be leading the orange group."

Draco hated orange. "Can't I be brown or blue or something?"

Pansy barreled on as if she hadn't even heard him. "And Team Brown will consist of Vince, Greg, Terrence, and Sally-Anne. You'll be searching fourth floors."

Draco groaned. "That's where _Filch_ is going to be. You _know_ he always patrols there in the mornings."

She smiled wickedly. "That's why you have to be _extra_ careful," she said. "Now, Theodore, you'll be leading Team Maroon, and that will consist of…"

Draco rolled his eyes and began to tune her out. He didn't really want to waste an entire day looking for Blaise. Especially when he knew exactly where Blaise was—behind a collection of dusty mops, brooms, and portraits, in an apparently unused broom cupboard. On the fourth floor, conveniently.

On the other hand—he also didn't want to have to go to class. He didn't want to have to face Potter. His face burned when he thought about it—about that _kiss_, and about Potter; his face, his eyes, the slightly crooked tilt to his nose. Skinny elbows, skinny knees, thick eyebrows and lashes.

Draco wasn't sure what he would do if he saw him. A curious warm feeling started in the pit of his stomach when he thought of it, and trickled like warm water down to his feet and up and around his face. They would glimpse each other across a room—maybe nod a little—"Hello, Potter," Draco would say, and—

"Draco!" Pansy snapped. "Did you hear a word I just said?"

Draco blinked. "Um. What was that?"

"I was just going over our strategy for today's mission."

_Mission_. Pansy was really getting excited about this.

"And that would be…?"

"First off," she said intently. "I need everyone to cast _finite incantatem_ on everything. _Everything_. Blaise could be under some spell, in pain, hurt—and that'll get him out of it."

That put a dent in Draco's plans. Blaise _was_ under a spell. But he was only stunned, after all.

"I don't really get why we want to find him anyway," Draco grumbled. "He's a big stupid prat. He told everybody about Potter and me at breakfast, and I think he deserves—"

Draco stopped abruptly. Everyone was staring at him. A look of comprehension was dawning in Pansy's eyes.

"Draco," she said slowly. "Is there something you need to tell us?"

"No," Draco said meekly. "I can't wait to look for Blaise. I've been ever so worried."

Pansy nodded, looking unconvinced. "If you say so, Draco," she said.

"I do," Draco said fervently. "I do, I do."

"But," she said. "I think maybe we should rearrange the teams a little. Draco—you and I can be Purple team, and we'll take care of the fourth floor. Greg—you can be in charge of Orange Team."

Greg looked up, startled, at the sound of his name. "What're we looking for, again?"

"Yeah, and why are you and I the smallest team?" Draco demanded, his confidence slightly recovered after his near discovery.

Pansy cracked her knuckles angrily. "Because I said so," she snapped. "Now, we've still got half an hour until classes start. We should be able to do a good bit of searching before anybody notices we're gone."

Everybody stared at her dully.

"This sounds kinda stupid," a young looking girl said doubtfully.

Pansy glared at her sternly. "Petrificus totalus," she said calmly.

Everyone continued to stare at her—only now, they stared in abject horror.

"All right, everybody!" Pansy said cheerfully. "Let's go!"

After that, things came together quickly. Before Draco knew what was happening, he was trotting along behind Pansy on the fourth floor, while she flicked her wand at everything that moved and most things that didn't. Draco, meanwhile, was darting glances at the enormous cupboard where he knew Blaise was hidden.

"So," Pansy said casually, as she scrutinized a perfectly innocent tapestry. "Have you taken my advice at all?"

Draco wracked his brains. Pansy seemed to think of herself as the Slytherin counselor, and in the past week alone, she had recommended that he eat more vegetables, read Oscar Wilde, and stop wearing so much green.

"You know," she prompted. "I said you should maybe think some more about Potter."

Oh. _That_ advice.

Draco gulped. "Yes," he said weakly. "I've thought about that a bit."

She dug her wand into a small hole in the wall. "And?"

"And what?" Draco said irritably, as he pretended to wave his wand at a tapestry.

She glared. "You _know._"

"And…and…" Draco faltered. He wasn't entirely sure what he thought, himself. Surely there was no reason to bring Pansy into it. "And I hate him," he decided finally. "With a passion."

She rolled her eyes. "Suit yourself," she said, bending down to tap her wand on a dead mouse, probably abandoned by Mrs. Norris. She sighed unhappily when the mouse corpse did not turn into Blaise Zabini, and Draco began to have serious concerns for her health.

But anyway, he was relieved when she dropped the subject. It gave him more time to concentrate on the matter at hand—how to keep Pansy from finding Blaise.

Really, the more Draco thought about it, the less keeping Blaise Zabini locked in a cupboard for the rest of his natural life seemed like a good idea. It had been such a wonderfully thought out plan. Blaise—cupboard—stay. But now there was the issue of food, and search parties, and the fact that, as much as Blaise _deserved_ to be punished for being such an arse, Draco was actually starting to miss him.

He was, in fact, trying to figure out how best to free Blaise without alerting Pansy when a jet of light hit his back and sent him stumbling, silent and unconscious, to the floor.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

When Draco awoke, it was to find that he could not move his arms or legs. He was in a small, dark space. The only illumination came from a sparking wand tip, and the only thing it illuminated was a shadowy, menacing face: Blaise Zabini.

Draco gulped. "Erm. Hello, Blaise," he said, trying to remain calm. "How are you this fine evening?"

When Blaise answered, his voice was hoarse and dry. "Just wonderful, Draco," he said, before breaking off into a low laugh.

Draco thought it sounded _evil_. And he was certainly one to know.

He squinted at Blaise in the dark. "I think your pupils are dilated," he informed Blaise solemnly.

Blaise raised an eyebrow. "I think my pupils are the _least_ of your concerns," he said, as he tapped his fingertips together.

Draco rather thought that Blaise had been watching too many muggle movies.

"So what _is_ my biggest concern, then?" Draco asked politely. Just because he was being held captive in a closet by a pupil-dilated maniac was no reason to forget his breeding.

Blaise smiled triumphantly. "I'm going to do to you _exactly_ what you did to me."

"Oh." Draco paused. "You mean you're going to lock me in the closet?"

Blaise looked disappointed that Draco had grasped it so quickly. "Pretty much," he said.

There was an awkward silence. Blaise shuffled his feet, and accidentally kicked over a bucket. Draco coughed quietly. His ear itched, but he couldn't scratch it.

"Well," Blaise said finally. "I guess I'll be going now."

"Okay," Draco said. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Wait," Blaise said, finally looking happy. "I'm not sure you really grasp the situation. You will be in a closet. I will be in my bed."

"Yeah," Draco said nonchalantly. "But anyway, you said you were going to do exactly what I did to you. And I fed you, at least."

Blaise scowled. "Yeah," he said. "Okay, then."

"Well, bye."

Blaise jumped out. Before he slammed the door, leaving Draco in utter darkness, he said, "You know, Draco, you really don't make things easy."

Draco grinned. "I know."

Blaise would get bored soon enough, locking him up. It wasn't much fun trying to annoy a person who wouldn't do much but smile at you.

But in the mean time, Draco's ear _really_ itched.

Because the only parts of his body he could move were his head and neck, his first attempt was to simply bend his ear down to his shoulder. That backfired. Apparently, his neck wasn't long enough—not only did his ear still itch, but _now_ his neck hurt.

Very badly.

His next thought was to use the closet door, only a few inches in front of his nose, as leverage. He wedged his head under a board running across the middle of the door, and strained his neck upward until he felt the rest of his body following—and then, before he knew what was happening, he had fallen on his side. And landed on a bucket. Which turned out to be full to the top with soapy water.

At least his ear didn't itch anymore.

Now, he was only wet, and cold, and sticky.

And a mop had landed across his face, and there were probably spiders in it.

Draco whimpered, once, very softly.

It was at about this time that he began to realize just how uncomfortable it was to be locked in a supply closet.

There was every chance somebody would find him soon. He had to keep reminding himself of that. Surely Filch would need the mop, or the bucket, or _something_.

Maybe?

It was also at this point that Draco realized that he was going to be getting little or no sleep that night.

He sighed, and resigned himself to the fact that, barring any late night janitorial urges on Filch's part, he probably was not going to be getting very much sleep that night.

Pansy had to realize he was missing at some point. He wasn't sure how long it had been at that point, but even _she_ had to get a little concerned when he disappeared at exactly the same time Blaise emerged.

Right?

Anyway, somebody would find him eventually. If not Filch, then Pansy or Blaise, and if not them, then maybe…

Harry Potter?

_He _certainly had a thing for rescuing people. Why shouldn't he rescue Draco?

Not that Draco needed rescuing. Not at all, and certainly not from that slimy rat bastard Potter.

But still. If he did.

For no other reason than he had nothing better to do, Draco imagined the scene: himself, lying prone and helpless on the floor. Potter's worried, anxious face. His gasp of horror. "Oh, Draco," he would say. "What has happened to you?" And Draco, stoic and unyielding, refusing to give up his friend. But Potter would not give in either—oh no! He would continue the interrogation, cool and collected, but unable to hide the _pain_ he felt for Draco. And Potter would gather him in his arms, and Draco would tell him,, finally sobbing, as they embraced. Oh, the beauty of it all! The tragedy! The romance!

Draco had been told, once or twice (or ten times) that he had a tendency to be overdramatic. He remembered this, and was exceedingly glad that his mother couldn't see what was going on inside his head at the moment.

And anyway, he was getting a little uncomfortable with his own vision. The fact that he was able to conjure up tension-filled daydreams starring Harry Potter as the romantic lead probably indicated that he had some sort of disorder. Because Harry Potter was in no way attractive. At all.

Though—his eyes weren't bad. That was all.

And they were overshadowed by all the many, many things that were wrong with him—his _personality_, mainly—the whole saint thing was _annoying_, even if it _was_ true, and—

If it turned out Draco did have a crush on Potter, he would kill himself. Or better yet, kill Potter. Yes. That would solve everything.

Mentally, Draco ran through a checklist: he wasn't physically attracted to Potter (except for his eyes, and his smile, and his hair), and he didn't like his personality (except he wished they were friends, at least), and he didn't want to kiss his again (except maybe to see what it was like), and he didn't have a crush on him at all (except that he kind of did).

Draco gave a low, anguished moan; and tried to shake his head so that the six-legged thing crawling in his hair would fall out. A closet, generally, was not the best place for self-reflection.

But Draco gave it his best shot.

Obviously a relationship of any kind—other than strictly loathing—was out of the question. Even if Potter had, at one point, felt anything at all for Draco there was no way he did anymore. Draco had blown that.

And anyway, he reminded himself, this was just a crush. People had them all the time. There was no reason in the world to think he wouldn't get over it.

Hopefully.

In the mean time, though, there was really nothing to do other than avoid Potter, and hope he didn't make too much of a fool of himself. He had done the same thing in third year when he had had a crush on Adrian Pucey, and had avoided Millicent Bulstrode during almost their entire second year due to a misguided bout of puppy love.

It had worked well enough then. There was no reason to assume it wouldn't work now. He would just ignore Potter in classes, and stop following him around in corridors, and—

"Malfoy? Is that you?"

A horribly bright light blinded Draco entirely. Maybe he was dying. That would explain the confusion in The Voice. Draco had never exactly been on good terms with any otherworldly beings.

"Hey," Draco said awkwardly. "Listen, I'm really sorry about what I did at my eighth birthday party. I really didn't think she'd react like that."

"Hell, Malfoy!" said The Voice. "What are you doing here?"

Draco gulped. "Um, I don't know if I've really been bad enough to warrant going _there_. Though really, in my opinion, this is pretty shabby as heavens go."

The light faded a bit. Draco saw a vague outline of a figure.

"You're rather small," he said, disappointed.

"What do you mean? I'm exactly the same size as you!"

The Voice was beginning to sound exactly like Harry Potter.

"Hey," Draco said accusingly. "You're not god."

Potter scratched his head awkwardly. "No. Sorry to disappoint you."

Draco glared up at him.

"Um. Aren't you going to move?" Potter asked. "I mean, I don't want to interrupt you, or anything, if you were…you know, _doing_ something, but—d"

"I _can't_ move, you twat," Draco spat, with as much venom as he could muster while feeling distinctly light-headed. "Spells, you may have heard of them."

Potter looked down at him undecidedly for a moment. For a moment, Draco felt a certain sinking feeling. As much as he loathed the idea of being rescued by Harry Potter—and he did, he really did—he still liked it better than the idea of lying around in a closet for hours

But apparently, Potter's heroism won out over his desire to be a snotty little schoolboy. A quick _Finite incantatem_ later and Draco leapt to his feet, brushing off his robes as he did so.

But apparently, his legs were a bit weak or something, after all that time lying down. That was the only explanation Draco could give for his next actions.

Those actions involved this: Draco, after making a quick and orderly exit from the closet, found himself stumbling forward, right onto Harry Potter. Potter's eyes momentarily registered surprise as he found himself being practically embraced by Draco—an arm slung around his shoulders, another reaching up to rest alongside his neck.

"What do you think you're doing Malfoy?" Potter asked irritably. Draco was suddenly, forcibly reminded of his own reaction to Potter just yesterday.

But—still foggy from lack of sleep—he found himself quite incoherent. "Nothing," he said innocently, while finding one of his hands quite entangled in Potter's hair. "Really."

Potter stood stalk still while Draco wound his hands around him, a suspicious looked imprinted on his face.

Draco, meanwhile, was rediscovering his love of the human touch. Potter's hair was soft and smooth, and surprisingly cool when Draco's fingers wove their way through it. This was in sharp contrast to the hotness of his neck—the slightly damp sheen to it all, as if Potter had just showered.

"Malfoy," Potter protested weakly.

"Mmm," Draco said, as he laid his head on Potter's shoulder.

It was delirium. It was hysteria. It was hormones. It was Draco Malfoy, clearly out of his mind.

"Your hair's wet," Potter informed him.

"Bucket fell on it," Draco said, not much caring at the moment. He was very comfortable.

Potter chuckled softly, and, very hesitantly, brought a hand up to Draco's shoulder and rubbed it softly. It felt nice, Draco decided distantly. Very cozy and warm, and extremely different from being locked in a closet. And it was nice, too, not to think about it, to just enjoy the fact that he felt _good_, to relish it even, without analyzing his every action.

Potter's fingers lightly stroked over the back of his neck. That felt even better. Draco sighed happily.

It didn't last long.

"Yay!" said Ginny Weasley. "I knew you'd shape up sometime! You _do_ like him! I knew it!"

Potter and Draco sprang apart. Potter coughed into his sleeve, and tried to conceal a book behind his back. Draco wiped the back of his hand across his nose.

The entire gang was there—Luna, Ginny, Colin, Padma, and Millicent, in full regalia. Luna was even wearing a large, diamond encrusted crown, with six radishes dangling across her forehead. Colin was swinging a pitchfork at his side, and, beside him, Millicent was walking with a slight limp that indicated she had had a closer encounter with this pitchfork than she might like. Behind them was a small, ragtag group, mostly Ravenclaws, who had apparently been incited to join the rebellion.

"Draco!" said Colin. "What are you doing? You can't have him all to yourself!"

"What are you guys doing?" asked Potter nervously. "And why are you calling him Draco?"

"Because that's his _name_, Harry," Millicent explained kindly.

Poor Potter looked to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown. "And _why_ are _you_ calling _me_ Harry, Slytherin?"

Millicent looked devastated. Her lower lip trembled. "I never knew you felt that way," she choked. Padma patted her shoulder, and glared furiously at Harry.

"Don't mind him," Draco said quickly. "He's just gone off his meds."

That perked Padma up right away. "Ooh!" she exclaimed. "Meds? For what?"

Only a Ravenclaw.

"Destructive tendencies," Draco invented wildly. "And pink skin syndrome. And stupidity. Very messed-up bloke, Potter."

A small sour-faced Ravenclaw spoke up from the back of the ground. "Hey!" she said. "I _thought_ you said we were going to overthrow the Ministry, owing to its recent totalitarianism. Right? That's what you said. I don't get what the big deal is about Harry Potter."

"Shut up," Ginny said fiercely. "Harry is a _hero_! You hear me? A _hero_!"

Potter backed up a few steps, and tried to hide his face behind Draco's shoulder.

"Harry," Ginny said pleadingly. "Harry! Oh, Harry! You can be the Overlord, and I can be your queen!"

"I don't _think_ so," said Millicent menacingly.

"Then I'll be your _slave_!" Ginny said heatedly. "Your slave of _love_! And you can have me, anytime you want, any_where_ you want."

"You better not let Ron hear you say that," Potter said, very close to Draco's ear. Draco felt the heat from his breath, and hoped nobody noticed the red tint to his face.

"That's a yes, then?" Ginny asked. There was a hard, burning look in her eyes. Draco thought she looked constipated.

"Well, _no_," Potter said awkwardly. "I mean, it's very nice of you to offer and all, but I'm really just not interested in…that…oh, don't cry, Ginny," he finished weakly.

"I _have_ to!" she bawled. "You don't want me! That's all I have!"

Luna chose this occasion to speak up. "Hello, Draco," she said cheerfully as Ginny wept piteously in the background. "Hello, Harry."

Harry looked miserable. "Why do you all keep calling him Draco?" he asked.

"All are welcome to be a part of the New Order," Luna said, spreading her arms widely—this was not a good move on her part, as she was holding a torch, and she accidentally singed Colin's hair in her eagerness. "We know no divisions. We are all one, in the great One of the universe."

Potter hadn't heard a word she'd said. "Hey, shouldn't somebody be stopping Ginny from jumping out that window?" he said nervously. "We're pretty high up."

"I'll handle it," Colin said suavely. "See, Harry? See how cool and calm and collected I am? We should totally go to Hogsmeade sometime."

Harry's eyes widened. "No, I really think she's going to jump."

Colin turned around just in time to catch the back of Ginny's robes as she pushed off of the ledge.

"See?" he grunted as he struggled to pull her back in. "I'm collected. And cool. Just like you."

"So, what do you say, Harry?" Luna said hopefully. "Are you ready for the rebellion?"

"Maybe later," Potter mumbled dazedly. "I'll rebel later…later…"

And with that parting statement, he stumbled away.

"Is it time to rebel now?" asked the same little Ravenclaw who had been complaining earlier.

"Absolutely," Padma assured her.

"Will you be joining us, Draco?" Luna asked. Draco found it rather hard to take her seriously with the radish and diamond crown.

"Not now," he said, staring off in the direction of Potter. "Maybe later."

That said, he took off in the same direction Potter had taken just a few seconds ago.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

When Draco caught up with Potter about a minute later, he was leaning against a wall, stunned.

"Hi," Draco said, suddenly feeling decidedly awkward, and wishing he hadn't come at all.

Potter glared at him for a moment, then apparently decided to give it up as not worth the effort.

"Hello, Malfoy," he said wearily.

Draco slid down the wall beside him. They sat in silence for a moment, before Potter decided to speak.

"What was that about?" he asked. "You know, before, after I found you."

Draco hesitated. His first impulse was to say it had been nothing—just a crazy, weird impulse. Or, even worse, that he'd done it deliberately to mess with Potter.

But he didn't say that. Instead, he said, "I don't really know. I mean, I just wanted to."

Potter nodded slowly. "Well, that's a change," he said bitterly.

"Yeah," Draco said. "I mean, I'm sorry that I—"

"No," Potter said loudly. "Listen to me. That was awful, Malfoy. I mean, you just ran away on me yesterday, and then this? That's pretty low, even for you."

Draco tightened his hands into fists as he began to feel angry, himself. "_You_ listen," he said. "I'm sorry I fought with you yesterday, but I didn't really mean to do that, anyway. It was just something I did."

Potter looked at him warily. "Yeah, right. I'm sure it was, Malfoy. Anyway, I don't know how you think it's going to help jumping on me like that."

"I wasn't _thinking_," Draco said earnestly. "That's the thing. Otherwise I wouldn't have."

Potter nodded. "I knew it," he said. "So if you hate me as much as you say you do, why don't you just leave me alone?"

Draco looked at him angrily. "I don't hate you," he said. "And just because I wouldn't have done it if I'd thought about it doesn't mean I'm not glad I did it."

It took him a minute to register what he'd just said. Only then did the panic start to sink in. At that moment, Draco would have done almost anything to take back the past five minutes—the past day—the past _month_ of his life, if it would stop him from ever saying those words to Harry Potter.

But when he turned to look at Potter, the only sign he'd heard anything at all was a small smile.

"So," Potter said calmly, after a few minutes had passed. "What were you doing in a closet, anyway?"

Draco's heart was still pounding painfully. He found himself suddenly, inexplicably angry at Potter for remaining so calm. "Blaise Zabini locked me in there," he mumbled.

Potter laughed. Draco glared at him. "Oh, shut up, Potter," he said. "It's not funny."

Potter strained to get control of himself. "No, it's not _that_," he said. "It's just that I found Blaise Zabini in that exact same closet a few hours ago, and when I freed him he said that _you_ put _him_ there."

"Oh." Draco was beginning to feel confused. "_You_ let Blaise out?"

Potter shrugged. "You don't have to thank me."

"I wasn't going to! Believe me, I was _not_," Draco said. Then something occurred to him. "Hey, wait," he said. "Why were you over by that closet in the first place? Twice in one day?"

Potter's face reddened. "Oh, nothing," he said, in what Draco assumed was meant to be an offhand voice. He ruined the effect by not-so-subtly trying to conceal a book beneath his cloak at the same time.

"Hey! I saw you with that book earlier," Draco said. "What is it? Is it dark magic? What're you trying to hide, anyway?"

Potter stood up rapidly. "Nothing," he said. His face was practically burning. "It doesn't matter anyway."

Clearly, it did. But Draco decided the subject wasn't worth pursuing. He liked this new, strange truce, if that's what it was. There was no need to ruin it already.

"Whatever you say, Potter," Draco said, and stood up beside him.

Potter looked at him warily. "I mean it," he said. "It's nothing."

Draco shrugged. "Okay," he said. "Are you going back to Gryffindor, now?"

"No," Potter said. "I've actually got to go to a—a club thing. Sorry."

"I'll see you, then," Draco said hesitantly. "Right?"

Potter seemed to consider him for a minute before he answered. "Right," he said.

After they parted, and Draco began to make his way back to Slytherin, he felt curiously light and happy.

Maybe he would go to Harry Potter's birthday party, after all.

**So, there's only going to be one chapter after this: the long awaited party. Ha. Get it, Lord of the Rings fans? Ha. Ha...not so much. But yeah. Next chapter's the party. Happy Labor Day weekend everybody! If you have time in between your barbecues and picnics, I'd love it if you'd review. That would definitely make _my_ weekend.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Um, first of all, I am SO sorry. I do realize that it's been over a month since I've updated. School really snuck up on me. I kept planning to update this fic, and just not getting around to it. Sorry! I totally understand if you've all completely deserted me. Anyway, I have a five-day weekend this week, and I realized that if I didn't update this now, I probably never was going to. Hence the update. This is, as I've promised, the last chapter. I think I've got all the loose ends tied up, and while this isn't my favorite chapter I hope it goes out on a good note. I've had a great time writing this fic, and I hope you've enjoyed reading it. You reviews have been great encouragement!**

**Chapter Nine:** **Casanova Malfoy, Romantic Extraordinaire **

Draco didn't even have to enter the Common Room before he heard the sounds of Blaise and Pansy getting reacquainted with each other.

"Oh, you _poor_ baby!" Pansy simpered.

Blaise sighed. "He was _brutal,_ Pansy."

"Well, we don't have to worry about him ever again," Pansy said confidently.

Draco pushed the door open and cleared his throat. Might as well let them down easy.

"Hello," he said brightly.

Pansy let her hand flop limply into Blaise's hair.

"Draco?" she said.

"Dammit!" Blaise shrieked.

"Nice to see you," Draco said. "I'm glad you found Blaise, Pansy."

"My god," Blaise marveled. "He's like a cockroach."

"Now, Blaise," Pansy said. "He needs our love and support. Even if he is a total freak who _locks people in closets_ when they annoy him. I know a very nice counselor you can see if you'd like."

"That won't be necessary," Draco said. "But I think Blaise should pay a visit to Madame Pomfrey. He looks a bit peaky."

Blaise stared at him.

"I'm going upstairs now," Draco said.

He had a lot of thinking to do.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

First off, there was the fact that he was sort of falling head-over-heels for Harry Potter in the most clichéd way possible. Which had, perhaps, been a long time coming, but was fairly annoying now that it was actually here.

What further complicated the situation was the fact that Potter seemed to be—well, there was a _chance_, anyway—that he might—

Draco could not even bring himself to think it.

Clearly, he needed to reevaluate his position. Earlier, when he had decided that there might be some possibility of a relationship with Potter, his brain had been addled. He had just been locked in a _closet_, for Merlin's sake. Out of his right mind.

Whenever Draco honestly, really liked someone, he tended to do one the same thing every time. It wasn't sensible, and never ever worked, and Draco had no intention of changing his ways.

His solution, in essence, was to run away.

This was his favorite solution. It resolved so many problems: his own annoying lack of self-control where romance was involved: the horrible world of dating, fights, and breakups; his _mother_; and Valentine's Day, among others.

It also accounted for the fact that he was well into his third teenage year and hadn't yet had a steady relationship.

And he was not about to strike up one with Harry Potter, of all people.

There were too many risks involved. Draco liked things to stay simple. For the past five years, he had hated Potter, and Potter had hated him—Draco tended to forget that he had, at least at first, wanted to be Potter's friend. That complicated things.

Things couldn't stay the same, though. That was just as clear. Draco was not about to spend his days mooning over a scar-headed sloppy-haired Gryffindor prat just because his hormones wanted him to.

Everything would work out in the end.

It would have to.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

However, skipping his classes in order to avoid Potter was not feasible.

Potions was his first class the next day. Meaning lots of Gryffindor interaction. And, in all likelihood, no _Slytherin_ interaction. Pansy and Blaise hadn't spoken to him since yesterday, and while Crabbe and Goyle weren't about to abandon him, they weren't the people to turn to for philosophical conversation.

He entered the dungeons early. He usually liked making grand, exciting entrances ten minutes into class; but he hadn't got much sleep last night and wasn't exactly eager for people to goggle at the bags under his eyes. Besides, he wasn't exactly welcome back in the Common Room.

But nothing ever worked out the way he planned it.

When Draco arrived, Harry Potter was already there, with Hermione Granger. They were sitting in the back row, muttering furiously. Granger was waving some sort of book around under Potter's nose. Draco vaguely thought he recognized it from somewhere. He'd ask about it, sometime, maybe.

When the door creaked open on its rusty hinges, they both spun around. Potter's face turned bright red, and, from the warmth rising in his cheeks, Draco suspected that he was just as bad.

"Go on, Harry," urged Granger. She smiled at Draco over Potter's shoulder.

Did she think she was doing him a favor? No good, interfering Mudblood!

Potter stumbled to his feet and glanced nervously between Draco and the floor.

Draco felt his heart lurch painfully. "Not right now, Potter," he said.

Potter stared beseechingly at Granger. She waved her encouragement.

Draco wished she would fall into some very large pit. Preferably a bottomless one.

"Please? Can we go out into the hall and talk?"

Draco stared at the floor. He could feel Potter's eyes boring into the top of his head, and he wanted to look up. But he couldn't.

"I'd rather not," he said.

Potter was quiet. Draco risked a look up.

"Fine, Malfoy," he said.

Draco almost stopped him before he went shuffling back to his desk. _Almost_. But not quite.

Blaise and Pansy walked in a few minutes later. They glared at him in unison before simultaneously turning away and stalking to the other side of the room.

Draco felt unloved.

Snape's entrance didn't do much for him. The man was clearly in a bad mood, which meant that—really, it just meant that it was no different from almost every other day. But he'd assigned them a Drowsiness Draught, and Draco had absolutely no one to work with.

Generally, he worked with Pansy on this sort of thing. But she had immediately snapped up Blaise, and the two of them were busily powdering scarab wings. Millicent, meanwhile, was chatting avidly with Theodore Nott, who seemed a bit terrified. And Snape, who was apparently in the mood to see a disaster, had assigned Crabbe to work with Goyle.

Draco tried to set up his cauldron without calling any attention to himself. He'd never had to work on his own before, and didn't want to call attention to the fact that he'd started.

A hand tapped him on the shoulder.

Draco, to his shame, felt his heart begin to speed at the thought—hope—that it was Potter.

"I'll work with you, Malfoy," said Hermione Granger.

Draco's shock was enough to stop him from saying anything _too_ rude.

"You?" he said. "Don't you work with Longbottom?" 

She glanced over her shoulder. "Neville's sick, and Ron's working with Harry," she said. "I need a partner. So do you. Let's get to work."

Before Draco knew what was happening, a pile of sickish yellow leaves were being pushed at him.

"Here," she said. "Each of these needs to be cut into sixteen equal sized squares. I'll handle the spider legs."

Draco glowered at the knife she offered him.

"What is this, Mudblood? You must have some reason for this."

Granger began to mash the spider legs rather more viciously than was required. "There's no need to use that word," she said. "I'm long over being insulted by you."

Draco shrugged. "Fine, then."

After a few minutes of chopping leaves in relative peace, Granger began to speak.

"If you _must_ know," she said lowly. "Harry's upset with me."

Draco nodded and tossed his leaves into the pot without meeting her eyes. "Is he, now."

"Yes," she said, her voice trembling. "And he's upset with you, too. It was—it was my idea for us to come to Potions early. Not his."

Draco grabbed a handful of scarab wings and crushed a few between his fingers. "Of course," he said. "Potter would never have the guts to do something like that on his own. Well, good for you, Granger. I hope you're proud."

She shook her head wildly, clearly flustered. "No, no," she said. "That's not what I meant."

"Well, spit it out then."

She wrung her hands unhappily. "I mean—well, what is Harry supposed to think? From what he's told me, _I_ don't know what to think. I just know that he was _happy_ last night, and when I asked him why it seemed like—well, for some reason he was happy about _you_. And he's told me all the things you've said and done, and I think he's right."

Draco glared at her and tossed his scarab wings into the cauldron. "It's none of your business, Granger."

She looked somewhat subdued, but wasn't finished yet. "Look," she said. "Harry's my friend. And I think you're a big prat, but Harry—_doesn't_. Not anymore. Or at least he didn't before your little performance this morning."

Draco looked at her sharply. "What do you mean?"

She snorted. Very unladylike. "What do you think I mean? People can only take so much, Malfoy."

Draco, against his will, spun around to look at Potter. Potter only glared, before turning back to Weasley and continuing his conversation.

He was beginning to feel like a proper idiot.

"I don't care if you think you're made of ice," she said. "You're easy enough to read. Don't be stupid, Malfoy."

Draco stirred the potion so quickly that it splashed both of their robes.

"Like I said, Granger," he repeated. "None of your business."

But after Potions, Draco waited before leaving the classroom, before impulsively hurrying out just behind Potter and his friends.

"Hey!" he said. "Potter!"

Potter stopped dead in his tracks, but didn't bother to turn and look at him.

"What is it, Malfoy?" he said coldly. Granger's hand came up to rest on Potter's shoulder.

Draco opened his mouth, and lost whatever he had wanted to say. "Nothing," he muttered, and walked away.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

The next few days were not Draco's best.

It all sprang, he deduced, from the fact that _no one_ other than Crabbe and Goyle would speak to him. In his desperation, he sought out Millicent Bulstrode to talk to—and discovered that she, along with the other members of SAPHAP—were all mysteriously missing.

Meanwhile, Draco was beginning to notice odd things going around in the castle. More mornings than not, Dumbledore was mysteriously missing from the High Table. "Power to the People!" was scrawled in red paint on all of the doors on the fourth floor, and no one could seem to get it off. Several times, he _knew _he heard voices coming from behind doors that would not open.

Out of curiosity and boredom, he found Luna Lovegood to ask her about it.

"Oh, that's right," she told him, beaming. "You know about the rebellion."

"I thought that was more of a knives and pitchforks kind of thing," Draco said.

"Yes, well," Luna shrugged. "That's our eventual plan. We'll probably start this Friday. But for now, we're in the planning stages. We have over two hundred students enlisted, and one teacher."

"Teacher?"

"Hagrid," Luna said confidentially. "He's very excited about the idea of Harry being king. Of course, the way I've planned it it's mainly a symbolic position, but the people aren't ready to be cut completely free."

Draco stared at her uncomprehendingly. "Hagrid," he said dully. "My god, we're all doomed."

Because he was doomed anyway, Draco didn't get very upset when he caught himself staring at Harry Potter—which happened increasingly, that week. Across the Great Hall, classrooms, the dungeons. It became a habit. Draco found himself walking away from lessons with the Gryffindors with no memory of having learned anything, but an enormous grin on his face.

Things were getting out of control.

Draco was starting to think that it had been a mistake, running away from Potter like he had. He wanted to be with Potter, and it didn't seem completely ridiculous that Potter might want to be with him, too. But he didn't know how to take back what he had said, and he was, maybe, a little bit afraid.

Just a little.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

That Friday, Draco woke up feeling relieved. The week was over; he had two days to recover, and by then—who knew? Maybe this Harry Potter infatuation would be over and done with.

Then he remembered—it was _Friday_. Today was the day that Luna Lovegood and Ginny Weasley planned to overthrow the government. It was also Potter's birthday party. Draco's stomach sank as he considered the horrible possibility that the two were somehow connected.

He went through his classes in a daze. In Ancient Runes, he vaguely registered that Padma seemed happier than usual. And in Care of Magical Creatures, Hagrid's normal insanity was magnified a hundred times over.

And as for Draco? Well, several people looked at him oddly. But he didn't notice. He couldn't take his eyes off of Harry Potter.

There was something in that boy that had drawn Draco's attention, since the day they had met in Madame Malkin's shop all those years ago. He wasn't _conventionally_ attractive, that was for sure, with his knobbly knees and his too-long nose, but he—there was something about him. That was all. Something that made Draco have trouble breathing and made his heart beat too quickly, but something that made him happy.

That night, Draco lay unhappily on the couch in the common room. Millicent had disappeared about an hour after dinner—probably to the Rebellion Birthday Party extravaganza.

Draco sighed loudly.

Pansy pulled her head away from Blaise, who she was snogging on the couch. "Stop moaning, Draco," she ordered, before regluing her lips to Blaise's.

Draco sighed again.

Spending his evening hibernating on the couch was not his idea of a good time. Especially when he knew that somewhere in the castle, Harry Potter was busy celebrating his birthday party—probably drinking firewhisky, maybe getting a little tipsy. Maybe he would find someone else. Like Granger had said—people could only take so much.

Draco sat up quickly and glanced around the Common Room.

"I'm leaving," he announced loudly. "In case anyone's looking for me."

But no one would look for him. Draco knew that much. No one even said goodbye.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

Draco was only ten steps from the dungeons when he realized that he had no idea where Harry Potter's birthday was.

His first thought was the room where SAPHAP meetings had been held. But when he got there, it was completely empty. Even the walls were bare of the posters that had covered them last time he was there, and a dusty film seemed to have settled over the floor.

So. Not there.

He tried the Great Hall next. He'd never heard of any sort of party in there before, but Dumbledore adored Potter enough to make an exception for him. When Draco opened the door, he saw a room that was empty except for a few House-elves busily scrubbing away at the floor in the back.

Not there, either.

Draco was beginning to panic. He felt that this, somehow, was his last real chance. He had to find Potter _tonight_ and do something—he wasn't quite sure what, or how—or it wouldn't matter _what_ he did anymore.

Then he remembered something.

Some room on the seventh floor—Draco didn't remember what it was called—Hermione Granger had told him about it. Some room that would give you anything you wanted, as easy as wishing.

Draco sprinted up all seven flights of stairs, and ran through several deserted halls before he finally came across a door that he was almost positive had not been there the day before.

It was only then that he hesitated. He was not at all sure that he was going to be welcomed, and even if he wasn't immediately thrown out there was nothing to say for sure that Potter would even be willing to look at him. It would very likely end in unhappiness and humiliation—and he thought it was worth the risk. Just the thought that Potter might smile at him _that_ way, or kiss him or say his name was enough for Draco to gamble his pride.

It was terrifying, having so little control over himself. It was something Draco had been trying to avoid for years, and now that he was caught up in it he found he rather liked it.

He brushed his hair back, pushed open the door, and went inside.

It was so crowded that at first no one seemed to notice him. It looked like every Gryffindor in the school had been invited, and Draco noticed three or four terrified looking First Years huddling close together. A good number of Hufflepuffs were mingling, as well, and five or six Ravenclaws. And then there was Millicent, and himself.

Draco felt horribly out of place.

He didn't even _see_ Potter.

The first person to say hello to him was Ginny Weasley. She bounced up to him with a glass of punch in her hands and abnormally red cheeks, waving cheerfully. "Hello, Draco," she said cheerfully. "Glad you could make it."

Draco nodded and looked over her shoulder.

"Have you seen Potter?"

"Harry? No. I was actually looking for him a bit. The coronation is going to start soon, and, well, obviously, we can't start without him…" she trailed off, gesturing vaguely to a gaudy, diamond encrusted golden throne that was propped up in a corner.

"That's nice," Draco said loudly. "I'm going to find Potter now."

It took him a good ten minutes before he actually did find him. The room was bigger than Draco would have thought possible. He knew it backed up to a Charms classroom, but it went back for ages and ages. And the decorations were distracting, too. There were presents piled in corners, and posters and signs tacked to the wall. There was one spot where gold and scarlet confetti rained from the ceiling, and Draco almost slipped trying to walk through a three inch layer of the stuff.

Finally, he spotted Potter—far in the back with Colin Creevey. He was being shown some sort of collage, and Draco distantly remembered the Saphaprodites discussing some sort of dedication to Potter's life being made, but all the same he didn't exactly care for the adoring way Colin was gazing up at Harry. His heart racing, Draco sped up until he was close enough to hear what was going on.

"This is very nice, Colin," Potter was saying diplomatically. "And I appreciate it. I really do. But—er, where exactly did you get the pictures of me in the shower?"

Colin laughed. "Oh—oh, _those_ pictures? Glad you asked. I took them myself, actually. How nice of you to ask."

"That's not exactly what I meant," Potter said slowly. "I mean…"

Draco coughed loudly, and Potter spun around to stare at him.

"_You_," said Potter accusingly.

"Hello, Draco!" Colin said happily.

"I want you out of here," Harry said, completely ignoring Colin.

"I need to talk to you," Draco said feverishly. "Just for a few minutes. Please."

"I'm glad you made it," Colin plowed on obliviously.

"Are you bonkers, Malfoy?" He turned away and began to examine Colin's collage.

Draco reached out and grabbed his shoulder. Potter flinched, and froze in place. Colin observed them with wide-eyed wonder.

"If you really think," Potter said quietly. "That after everything you've done I have the slightest wish to—"

Draco grabbed his other shoulder and spun him around. "Look," he said. "I'm sorry, okay?"

And with that, he kissed Harry Potter full on the mouth.

It was brief. But it was enough for Draco to know that _this_ was exactly what he wanted—Potter's lips on his, and Potter's hand inexplicably to come up to brush the side of his face, and the softness of Potter's hair—_this_.

Before he knew it, Potter was pushing him away—but not angrily. Thoughtfully, gently even.

"Okay, Malfoy," he said. "Let's talk.

As Draco followed Potter to the door, he noticed a few people pointing and muttering. It barely registered. He was still numb—with disbelief—with delight—and it hardly seemed to matter if the entire school knew.

Behind them, Colin Creevey burst into tears.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

Potter nearly slammed the door behind them when they entered the hall.

"Okay, Malfoy," he said, crossing his arms. "I'm giving you _one_ chance to say whatever it is you have to say. Which is more than you deserve, anyway."

Draco took a deep, shuddering breath, and found that he was not able to meet Potter's eyes. He was not used to making apologies, and, for a moment, he considered lying and saying it was nothing.

But he wanted this, and it was worth the risk.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, and then again, more firmly. "I'm sorry. I've been—I haven't been very nice the past week. Or month. Or so."

Potter snorted. "Oh, please, Malfoy. You haven't been 'very nice' the past _five years_. If that was the only problem it wouldn't even _matter _at this point."

Draco winced. It was perfectly true, and he hated hearing it said aloud. "That's right," he said. "And I'm sorry if I've been—confusing, or—if anything I've said has messed you up at all. In the past while." Potter was silent. Draco dared to glance up at him, and found that Potter was—almost _smiling_. "It hasn't been on purpose," Draco continued. "It's just that it's hard. I mean, going from _enemies_ to—to whatever you are now. I haven't known what to think."

There was a hand on his shoulder—Potter. Draco inhaled deeply, and looked up to see Potter nearly beaming at him.

The boy had no restraint. Honestly. Damn good thing he _wasn't_ in Slytherin, Draco thought.

Draco took a deep breath. He had no idea what he was going to say, but this felt like an Important Moment, and he felt he ought to say _something_. But Potter beat him to it.

"Listen," he said. "I have some stuff to apologize for, too."

"Like the fact that you were generally at _least _as confusing as _I_ was over the past few weeks?"

Potter blinked. "Well, no. I mean, that too. But. This is actually a bit more embarrassing. I mean—okay, to be perfectly honest—when I asked you to Hogsmeade the first time, that wasn't entirely my idea."

Draco's mind immediately leapt to Hermione Granger, and he mentally noted that she either deserved a good slap or a thank you.

"This is—my god," Potter said. "I can't believe I'm actually saying this. Okay. Here goes. For the past three months or so, I've kind of been involved in…a Draco Malfoy fan club."

The world flipped over beneath Draco's feet.

"What?" he breathed.

Potter cringed. "Yeah, I know. They _made_ me join, though, once I found out about them. It was mainly your friend Parkinson running the whole thing, with Crabbe and Goyle and Parvati Patil. And Zacharias Smith came to one or two. And Mandy Brocklehurst."

Draco felt himself breaking into a wide grin. "That has done wonders for my self-esteem," he said.

"You mean your ego?"

"Shut up, Potter," Draco said—and instead of getting angry, like he would have a few months ago, Potter laughed, and smiled, and Draco's stomach lurched in a way that was utterly good and pleasant.

"Well," Potter said, sighing contentedly. "That's good. I thought that if—if we stopped fighting, somehow—I thought you would be upset. I guess it's kind of dishonest, after all. And—well, I don't mean to hurt your ego—er—self-esteem, that is—but I guess you should probably know that the club has formally disbanded."

Draco was outraged. "Why in the world would they do that?"

Potter shrugged. "I guess they just didn't care enough," he said nonchalantly.

Well. Draco could fix that. He had no reason to be angry with Pansy or Blaise; and he was happy, and he didn't think there was anything he couldn't do.

"So," Potter said breathlessly. With another happy leap of his stomach, Draco realized exactly where this was heading. He took a step forward, breathless with anticipation, balanced himself on Potter's shoulder, and closed his eyes as they both leaned in.

It was the first kiss they had shared where they both been expecting it—completely sober, willing, and ready, and it was better for it. Draco's face was so close to Potter's that he could feel heat radiating off of it, and for once there was no worry that he was about to be pushed away, or pressure to pull away himself. This was allowed—this was _right_.

Draco had barely slipped into the rhythm of the kiss when he felt Potter's tongue at his lips, and opened his mouth—and that felt good, too; and so did Potter's hands on his back and hips and the way their noses touched and the enormous _relief_ that came from finally, _finally_ being allowed to be in _love_ with Harry Potter.

Finally, he pulled away—for the first time, not because he was angry or unhappy, but because he _was _happy, and dazed, and needed to think. But Potter's hands stayed on his shoulders, and Draco allowed himself to run a hand through Potter's hair, and he had to laugh at the absurdity of it all. And when his hand dropped to where Potter's was, Potter caught it, and held it.

Draco was happy.

But there was still one more thing Draco was curious about.

"Hey, Potter," he said.

"Hmm?" Potter breathed, very near to Draco's face.

"What was that book I've seen you with the past week or so? That one Granger was waving around before Potions earlier?"

Potter blushed bright red and pushed away. "You don't want to know," he said. "Really."

Draco took his hand and smiled his most winning smile. "Yes," he said confidently. "Yes, I do."

Potter took a deep breath. "Okay," he said. "But don't say I didn't warn you. And Hermione gave it to me anyway. It's not like I picked it out for myself or anything. Because I didn't. And I didn't even read it. Maybe I _glanced_ at it a bit, but—"

"Potter," Draco interrupted, caressing the side of Potter's cheek. "What was it?"

Potter blushed even redder, and leaned into Draco's touch. "It was…it was _Gay Love for the Teenage Wizard_."

Draco blinked at him.

"I would not have expected that from you," he said blankly.

Potter nodded fervently. "Hermione!" he reminded Draco. "All Hermione."

Draco nodded, and, thoughtfully, leaned in to kiss him again. When he pulled away, Potter had calmed down slightly.

"So," Potter said. "Should we head back into the party, then?"

Draco grinned wickedly. "Not at all," he said. "I want to see that book, Potter. And I want to know exactly what you got out of it."

Potter stared at him in disbelief for a moment before, laughing, he pressed his lips to Draco's one more time.

"We'll see about that," he whispered.

Draco was rather looking forward to it.

* * *

**Thanks for bearing with me, guys! I would love to hear your thoughts; on the entire fic or this chapter in particular. I'm considering an epilogue focusing more on Luna and Ginny's rebellion if anyone's interested. I just didn't have time to write it all out like I planned. Anyway. A lot of you were right on the whole Draco Malfoy Fanclub plot. Congrats on that! I don't know if anyone guessed about the book...but then, that hasn't been a big focus like the DMF was. Anyway, thanks again! I would love to hear from any of you guys who have this on your alerts list but haven't reviewed yet--you now who you are ;-P **


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